


A Study in Motion

by K_K_TiBal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Art museum, First Kiss, Ice Skater Dean Winchester, Ice Skating, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Photographer Castiel, Photography, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_K_TiBal/pseuds/K_K_TiBal
Summary: Castiel Novak’s one true passion is photography, though he’s still considered just an amateur with dreams of something more. When one of his professors gives the class the assignment of effortlessly capturing the idea of motion in a photograph, Castiel finds himself without a muse until his study partner, one Sam Winchester, volunteers his brother - a professional figure skater with dreams of his own and a past that held him back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HUUUUUGE thanks to [whelvenwings](http://whelvenwings.tumblr.com) for being a stellar beta for me, and [missaceriee](http://missaceriee.tumblr.com)for providing the absolutely GORGEOUS art. 
> 
>  
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> [Tumblr Art Masterpost](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/drb17flf)
> 
>  
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> [AO3 Art Masterpost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10692258)
> 
>  
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>  
> 
> I am, unfortunately, not an expert of figure skating or how competitions work so I INEVITABLY got something wrong and I apologize in advance :)

 

 

The best part about working in an art museum was the constant, calming quiet that permeated throughout the exhibits. No matter which section Castiel was working that day, he was almost guaranteed to have a blissfully silent time alone with his thoughts. Last month, the museum had played host to an exhibit featuring moving art and while it was an interesting idea, the clicks and clanks of the more noisy pieces grated on his nerves for the entire month.

The day that exhibit had finally closed, it had been so peaceful he’d almost cried.

“The landscape exhibit is up the stairs and to the right,” Castiel said from behind the front desk, gesturing towards a sign clearly labeled _Landscape Exhibit_ propped up next to the entrance of the stairwell. “I hope you enjoy your visit, sir.”

Castiel let out a long breath as the man shuffled off towards the stairs.

He loved his job here.

He truly did.

But customers were difficult to deal with, no matter what profession you were in.

He brushed back the hair from his face and adjusted the blue tie that hung around his neck. He’d only started wearing ties when he got this job a year ago and still couldn’t quite get the knot right.

Castiel frowned when he saw the pamphlets on the counter in front of him had been haphazardly picked through, and stood to adjust them back into a neat pile. The sound of the customer’s footsteps disappeared up the staircase, and the hall was absorbed by the quiet once again.

For the time being, anyway.

The sound of sharp tapping of high heels against the wood floor made Castiel groan internally as he sat back down in his receptionist chair. Gabriel didn’t wear heels - at least at work; Anna wore flats because she didn’t think the pain was worth it; so that meant this was either a customer, or -

“Ugh, you will not _believe_ the day I’ve had, Clarence.”

Meg Masters leaned against the stone countertop with a certain dramatic flair, tossing her carefully curled hair as she leaned her head back in portrayed angst.

“I’m sure I won’t,” Castiel murmured, keeping his eyes glued to the computer screen in front of him as he studied the future planned exhibits for the museum.

For whatever reason, his co-worker had taken to calling him anything but his actual name - which he’d finally surrendered to, after months of protesting.

Meg raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, fine, grumpy-cat. I guess you won’t want to hear about how a girl almost threw up on our Monet and how some guy thought he could argue with me about photograph developing techniques?”

Castiel hummed and adjusted his glasses. “I guess not.”

Meg rolled her eyes and waltzed her way behind the counter, taking off one of her red high heels and rubbing her foot as she used Castiel’s chair to balance herself.

“Damn. I might start taking a leaf out of Anna’s book, soon.”

“Oh? You’re going to stop arguing with the customers?” Castiel’s lips quirked upward as he remembered some of the more passive-aggressive arguments he’d overheard.

“Hardy-har. Never.” Meg dropped her chin on Castiel’s shoulder and stared at his screen. “What are you doing?”

“My job. What about you?” Castiel said, gently nudging her off. “Aren’t you supposed to be giving tours right now?”

Meg snorted. “No? It’s one o’clock. I’m taking over the front desk. Don’t you have class soon or something?”

“Oh.” Castiel quickly checked the time and scrambled for his backpack with a sharp nod. “Yes, I do.”

He waved as he shrugged his backpack over his shoulder and began walking towards the front entrance. “Thanks, Meg!”

“Your tie is on backwards again!” Meg shot back, sounding exasperated.

***

“Beautiful,” Professor Moseley nodded her approval at the image on the screen in front of the class. “Absolutely stunning. I want you all to notice the color balance in this picture and strive to make all of your photos like this one. Capturing snow like this is no easy feat.”

Castiel felt his face flush as the praise continued, and he sunk down lower in his seat, even though he knew that the displayed picture didn’t have his name on it.

“Well done to the capturer of this picture.”

Castiel let himself smile as Professor Moseley moved onto the next photo. The ultimate goal of the class was submitting a photo assignment, and then receiving praise for it - but few ever achieved that. A quiet glow grew in Castiel’s chest, and he let himself be warmed by it throughout the rest of the class period.

“Now,” Professor Moseley clapped her hands together and pulled up a picture of a small girl smiling to herself as her long, auburn hair was tossed around by what he assumed was the wind. It was beautiful. The framing was right, the lighting was spectacular, and the pure joy on the girl’s face had been perfectly captured. “Your next assignment is going to be a study in motion.”

Castiel watched enraptured as she pointed out the hair that had been frozen in time.

“I want to see proof that you can capture movement in a photograph. I want to see it obviously displayed in a single frame. See the hair? It’s moving. There’s no denying. This was captured with a shutter speed of one two hundredth of a second.”

Castiel nodded to himself, chewing on his lip as he tried to think of something he could photograph.

“If you would like to do a long exposure photograph you may, but I wouldn’t recommend it. I think that you all have it in you to portray motion the hard way.” Professor Moseley clicked a button and brought of a picture of a baseball player mid-swing. There were no blur lines, just a captured moment of kinetic energy.

“I want you to think outside of the box. Show me something I’ve never seen before. Don’t photograph the obvious.”

Nothing obvious. Castiel tapped his fingers against his leg as he mentally ran through a list of things he could photograph. A moving car? Probably obvious. A jogger? Not very exciting.

“Your photograph is due next Friday, so do your best. Class dismissed.”

Castiel slowly pulled his bag up and over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the camera inside of it. He’d had to save for years in order to afford such a nice camera, and now it was easily his most cherished possession.

Motion.

Castiel tugged his jacket closer around him as he made his way out the classroom. Professor Moseley had liked his latest photograph so much that he couldn’t help but feel like he now had an expectation to live up to. What if he wasn’t creative enough with his next photograph, and ended up disappointing her?

He’d just have to think harder.

***

Three days later and Castiel still hadn’t come up with anything worthy of the assignment.

He’d had plenty of mediocre ideas, or ideas that he was sure his professor had probably seen before - but nothing that really stuck out to him as unique.

He could take a picture of his cat, maybe? But animals  had probably been submitted dozens of times in the past. At least one of his classmates was sure to think of the same thing. Still, maybe if he captured a moment that was -

“Castiel?”

Castiel looked up and blinked as he felt a hand gently touch his shoulder.

“Whoa, sorry.” Sam Winchester held his hands up and smiled warmly. “I was just wondering if you needed help with your flashcards.”

Castiel glanced down at the pen and card he held in his hand and shook his head. “No thank you, Sam. I was just...lost in thought, I suppose.”

Sam nodded and tossed him a highlighter. “Just making sure you weren’t having a stroke.”

Castiel smiled wryly as he caught the pen and shrugged his shoulders. “I might soon.”

Sam snorted as he flipped through the health book, tilting back on his chair - the one beside Castiel’s. “Nah. This test isn’t going to be that bad, I guarantee it. He just keeps talking it up because he wants to at least pretend like this class is worthwhile.”

Cas gave a little knowing smile in response. He had been lucky to have accidentally sat next to Sam during their first day of class, seeing as it was very obvious that he was a quick learner and a great study partner. Even if he was a few years younger, they got along better than Castiel did with most people.

“It’s not that,” Castiel murmured, flipping one of his cards to the back so he could write the definition down. “I’ve got a photography assignment due soon and I don’t know what to photograph.”

“You’re always taking pictures of stuff.” Sam looked up from his book and gestured towards the camera that Castiel had on the table next to him. “Something you’ve shot has to work, right?”

Castiel let out a long breath. If only it was that easy.

“Unfortunately, it’s very specific. I have to capture something in motion and it has to be… unique.” Castiel waved a hand in frustration. “I want it to be beautiful. Graceful… I want it to stand out. I know I could do it if I could just find the right subject.” He shrugged and shuffled the flashcards he’d been making. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

There was silence from the other side of the table that quickly made him feel self-conscious.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble on about-”

“So, you need to photograph something or someone in motion and they have to look cool while doing it?”

Castiel glanced back up at Sam and saw him tapping his chin.

“Essentially, yes.” Castiel raised an eyebrow, not sure what Sam was getting at.

“I might have an idea.” Sam held up a hand as though he already sensed Castiel’s skepticism. “Hear me out. I don’t know a lot about photography, but I know someone that might fit that criteria.”

“Really? Who?”

Sam reached for his phone and stared down at the screen as he spoke.

“My brother. Dean. He’s, uh - he’s a professional figure skater, actually. The dancing, the costumes, the medals, all of that fun stuff. Here -” Sam tapped on the screen and held it out for Castiel to see.

He’d pulled up a picture of a younger-looking boy with sandy hair gleefully holding a medal up into the air, while an older man with a beard and a baseball cap had an arm flung over his shoulder and a proud smile on his face.

“It’s… kind of an old picture, sorry. I’m pretty sure he’s like your age, now. Twenty-three.” Sam shrugged his shoulders as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Anyway, it’s just a thought.”

Castiel instinctively reached out for his camera and set it on his lap as the gears began whirring in his brain. This could work. A figure skater was unique. If he set up the shot right, the photograph had the potential to turn out incredible, as well.

“No, I like it.” Castiel nodded slowly, forcing himself to shove aside his instinctive nature to start planning shots. He didn’t want to get attached to an idea that he wasn’t totally sure would work out right. It was entirely possible to take one hundred shots and hate all of them. “I just wouldn’t want to be a bother to him, is all. I’m sure he has better things to do than help an amateur photographer out on a school assignment.”

“Please,” Sam rolled his eyes and began typing on his phone. “I’m texting him now. I’m sure he’ll be fine with it. Besides, he could probably use this.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side curiously.  

“How do you mean?”

Sam shrugged.

“He could use a new friend, I guess.” He looked up, suddenly looking a little nervous. “Not that you have to, of course. Be his friend, I mean. He just doesn’t get out a ton and I think that him like… talking to someone new would be great. Get him out of his head. You know what I mean?”

Castiel smiled when he could hear the wince in Sam’s voice.

“I understand.” Castiel checked his watch and shut his health book. “Just let me know a time and place that he’ll be practising and I’d be happy to meet him.”

“How about tomorrow?”

Castiel glanced back over to Sam to see him wiggling his phone.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Are you sure he’ll be practicing?”

Sam let out a long sigh.

“He’s  _always_ practicing.”

Castiel shrugged his shoulders and put his book back into his bag. The sooner he got the pictures taken, the sooner he’d be able to fret over which photo to submit and which small edits to make on it. He hated last minute panicking.

“Sounds good to me. I’m available after one o’clock. Text me the address?”

“Sure thing,” Sam nodded enthusiastically and continued typing away on his phone. “I’ll get it all set up.”

Castiel nodded and pulled the camera around his neck.

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it.”

Sam waved distractedly as Castiel headed back out of the library.


	2. Chapter 2

Just like usual, the museum was quiet - though it was slightly less so on Sunday afternoons. 

Castiel vaguely surveyed the room he had been stationed in to watch over the art pieces. There was a couple holding hands and staring at each other more than the paintings, a family with small children that he was going to be paying extra attention to, and a few single people wandering around and staring intently at the pieces of art. 

Sunday afternoons seemed to be popular. 

Castiel let out a long breath of air as he looked at the half of the room that had pictures hanging up from a myriad of amateur photographers from all around the state. These had been the finalists of the museum’s most recent contest. 

It wasn’t anything incredibly large, but it was definitely something one could put on a resume, if one’s photograph or artwork was chosen - not to mention the few thousand dollars that were up for grabs if you won. Castiel fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt as he studied the winners for what had to be the dozenth time. 

Every picture was unique, and he could wholeheartedly see why they’d been selected as the best of the best. But what he’d noticed most of all was the emotion that they evoked. Not only were the winners talented, but each picture had meaning behind it that magnified the piece to its maximum potential. 

One day, he would make it onto that wall.

Or so he hoped. 

Castiel perked up when a woman with bright red hair pulled up into a neat bun walked into the room and smiled at him with a small wave, ready to take over his shift.

“Anything I should know?” she whispered once he was within hearing distance. 

Castiel hummed. “The child in blue is eyeing the picture of the flowers. He may try to touch it.”

“Good to know.” Anna moved into position with a smile and clasped her hands in front of herself as Castiel made his way back through the hallways of the museum, hearing an echo of Anna politely asking a child not to touch the pretty flowers. 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to have time to change out of his work clothes if he wanted to make it to the ice rink on time, so he’d just have to meet up with Sam’s brother in semi-formal wear. 

Castiel pulled out the cell phone that he wasn’t allowed to check during working hours and nodded when he saw Sam’s reply to his previous text. 

_ I PROMISE he’s okay with it. You’re not inconveniencing him. Stop worrying :) -SW _

Castiel sighed, still feeling like he was slightly inconveniencing a professional figure skater by asking him to pose for some student’s photographs. 

Still, as hesitant as he was, Castiel was intrigued.

He  _ may _ have done some light stalking on the internet, but googling a name didn’t really count as stalking, did it? Either way, he’d found out some pretty interesting things.

And by interesting, he meant vague. 

There were quite a few pictures of a younger Dean holding medals high into the air and lots of pictures of him skating from various newspapers and websites, but not much was recent.  He’d managed to find a single article that was more current talking about the former-junior champion Dean Winchester’s big comeback that was rumored to be happening, but not much else other than that. 

For whatever reason, Dean had apparently taken a fairly long break from skating. 

Castiel set his bag next to him in the seat of his car and spent the rest of the drive concentrating, trying to navigate his way to an ice rink he’d never even heard of - despite having lived no more than half an hour away for most of his life. 

Finally, when his GPS told him he’d arrived and he could see a big sign that said ICE RINK, Castiel pulled his camera strap over his head and got his first view of the building. 

It was bigger than he’d expected - but the website said that it held an ice skating rink, a hockey rink, and even an indoor soccer field, so he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. In contrast, the parking lot was almost completely empty, save a small car and a sleek black Impala. 

Castiel walked towards the front entrance, ignoring the  _ closed _ sign and tapping on the glass door like Sam had told him to. The rink was closed on Sundays, but Dean had apparently been granted special permission to practice when there were no other skaters. 

A blonde woman quickly hurried to the door and opened it for him, not hiding the once-over she gave him. 

“Are you the photographer?” she asked. 

Castiel gestured towards the camera that hung from his neck. 

“I try to be.” 

The woman smirked and held the door open for him. 

“Great. Dean’s just out practising on the rink right now. I’ll show you -”

“Hey, Jo!” A much deeper voice echoed through the building from not too far away. “Can you play the music again?”

Jo turned her head to yell back. 

“Yeah, gimme a second!” 

Jo waved her hand at Castiel, gesturing for him to follow as she jogged forward towards what was most likely the ice skating rink. 

There was a long wall that surrounded the rink, and an expanse of either glass or plastic that raised even higher above the wall. For the wall’s sake, Castiel hoped it was plastic. 

Jo grabbed a remote that had been left on the wall and pointed up at the stadium seating. 

“Go chill over there for a bit. When he’s done with this routine I’ll tell him you’re here.” 

Castiel nodded and made his way up to the seating and sat in first row that he could reach. The ice rink was almost as quiet as the museum on a good day, except for the sound of Jo running to get closer to the stereo system, and the sound of ice skates against ice from the man in the center of the rink - the man that had to be Dean Winchester. 

Even with his glasses on, Castiel couldn’t quite make out many details about him. 

He had the same sandy-blond hair from the earlier photos that Castile had seen, and was wearing a simple pair of black pants and a long-sleeved green shirt that looked like it hung comfortably on his frame. 

Dean stopped skating in graceful circles to stand still in the center of the rink with his head ducked down, waiting for the music to begin. 

Castiel didn’t know much about skating at all - just what he’d seen through briefly watching the Olympics once, and from various movies. Any moment now he expected a fluid, classical song to trill through the speakers, and for Dean to elegantly skate around for a few minutes to compliment it.

What he  _ hadn’t  _ expected was the familiar beat of  _ Back in Black  _ to blast overhead, and for Dean to drop his shoulders one at a time on beat with the music, and begin skating backwards while playing air guitar. 

Castiel raised his eyebrows in sheer surprise. Dean winked to an imaginary crowd member, seeming to barely need to concentrate on the smooth flow of his skates over the ice. The rock song thudded heavily; Cas found himself nodding along to it.

This routine and this skater was going against everything he’d thought professional figure skaters were supposed to do and be. Were they allowed to enter this kind of music into contests? Maybe this routine was just for fun. 

He definitely  _ should  _ compete with it, though. Castiel was definitely no judge, but he was thoroughly impressed by what he was seeing. Dean was definitely making this song his own. There were quite a few moments he’d pretended to play either the drums or the guitar as he skated around and jumped on the tips of his skates expertly, egging the non-existent audience on with a crook of his hand and a smile.

Castiel gasped the first time Dean did a jump, watching in awe as he landed it with a flourish and kicked his other leg into the air with another small spin. Everything about it was energetic, and everything AC/DC would have wanted. 

Dean was a natural performer. 

A jump near the end proved to be too much, and Castiel clenched his hands together when Dean fell and slid for a few feet, before jumping right back up and continuing the routine.

The song ended with Dean doing an incredible spin in the center of the rink, starting low and ending high until he brought his arm up and pretended to do one last strum on an invisible guitar. 

He was shaking and breathing heavily, but as soon as the music stopped completely, Castiel began clapping in earnest. 

Dean looked up at the sound and held a hand over his eyes, as if it would help him see better. 

“Hey there, stranger,” Dean called, sounding just as out of breath as he looked, and he gave a dramatic bow before speaking again, hands on his hips. “Why don’t you come on down so you can get a better angle?”

Right! The pictures! 

Castiel looked down at his camera in dismay. He should have been taking pictures during that entire routine but he had been so enthralled by the performance that he’d completely forgotten the whole purpose of his being here. 

He quickly began walking down the steps towards the front of the rink, as the  _ Back in Black _ continued to ring in his ears. 

Clearing his throat, Castiel walked towards where Dean was lounging against a break in the rink wall, talking to Jo animatedly, stopping when he saw Castel approach. 

Gone was the young boy that Castiel had seen in those photographs from years ago. Sam had told him they were old, but he hadn’t quite realized by just how much. Instead of a scrawny, rosey-cheeked youngster, a well-filled-out man reached out a hand in greeting. 

The only real similarities between the two were the peppered freckles dotting his cheekbones - and eyes that made Castiel want to capture the pigment forever in a picture, and display it for the world to see. The impulse was as instant as it was shocking. Castiel shook his head slightly, trying to shake off the thought.

“I’m Dean,” the man said. A half-smile seemed to be a permanent part of his features. “You must be Sam’s friend.”

“Castiel.” He reached forward and grasped the hand, shaking it firmly. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this. Did Sam explain what it’s for?”

“Yep,” Dean nodded seriously. “He said that you were in need of a devastatingly handsome photography subject, and I said I’d give it a shot.”

Castiel’s mouth nearly dropped open as he stared back at Dean, unsure of what to say. Had Sam really told Dean that? He didn’t seem the type to do something like this to embarrass him, and yet it seemed to be happening. 

Jo rolled her eyes and punched Dean in the arm.

“Sorry, I’m kidding.” He laughed and rubbed the spot she’d wounded, though Castiel doubted it did much damage. As an athlete, Dean had quite a bit of muscle pretty much everywhere. “Sam said that you needed to take a cool picture of someone moving, right?”

Castiel nodded, getting his breath back. “I understand this is probably a strange request -”

“Nah, no problem.” Dean shook his head as he cut him off. “It keeps things interesting. What did you want me to do?” 

Castiel pulled up his camera and began adjusting settings. 

“Well, actually, if I could have you just run through your routine a few times, I’ll see if I can get what I want out of it. I’ll have to do some test shots to adjust the white balance and so on, but you shouldn’t have to do much different than it seems you would in normal practice.”

Dean nodded in understanding. “Sounds good to me. I’m only sorry that you get a half-baked performance. This isn’t super ready yet and I haven’t perfected it -”

“But it was  _ wonderful.” _ Castiel said earnestly, taken aback that Dean thought the performance was anything less than stunning. “I’ve never seen anything so graceful and exuberant and the same time. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

A few moments of silence echoed around them; both Jo and Dean simply stared at him. 

“Wow, Castiel,” Dean said as Castiel began to turn red with embarrassment. “You sure know how to make a guy’s ego shoot through the roof.” 

Castiel’s flush deepened and he turned to his camera for a distraction. 

“How about you go through the routine again?” Castiel said, more stiffly than before with awkwardness. He pushed up his glasses onto the top of his head and brought the camera to his face, pointing it out towards the rink, praying that Dean would just let him melt into the floor in peace. 

“You got it. Hit the music, Jo.” 

Castiel trained the camera onto Dean, taking a few shots of his beginning pose just for the fun of it, and waited for the music to start again. 

Guitar strums. Shoulder drops. Skating backwards while playing an air guitar. Castiel took pictures of all of it. 

It was more difficult to get a clean picture of Dean spinning or jumping, and Castiel had to take a few seconds to adjust the shutter speed before trying again, and only just getting the camera up in time to take a few shots of Dean falling on the same jump again. 

From the focus of the camera Castiel could see Dean’s fist clench when he fell, and watched as he shook his head in frustration before getting back up on his feet to complete the routine. 

Honestly, Castiel didn’t think that messing up on one small jump was such a big deal - but it seemed that way to Dean, so who was he to say otherwise? 

The sound of the shutter closing couldn’t be heard over the music, but if it could have been, he had no doubt it would have driven Jo insane with how often he was taking shots. By the time he got home he was going to have hundreds of photos to choose from. 

The thought thrilled him. 

The final notes trailed off and Dean stood in the center of the rink once more, chest heaving and sweat dripping from his face - something Castiel wouldn’t have noticed if not for the zoom function on his camera. 

“Perfect!” Castiel called out and Dean took it upon himself to leisurely skate back over. 

“You think?” Dean asked. “How’d I look?”

Castiel quickly flipped through the pictures he’d snapped and pulled up one of Dean in the middle of a sort of kick-spin and turned the camera around for him to see. 

“Whoa!” Dean used his sleeve to wipe up some of the sweat from his forehead. “I look badass!” 

“Well, you are skating to  _ Back in Black.  _ I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” Castiel mused as he adjusted a few more settings. “Alright, I think I’ve got the hang of this routine, now. Would you mind doing it for me just one more time?”

Dean nodded. “Sure thing! But after that I’ve probably got to call it quits. I’ve been here since nine.” 

“Of course. Thank you.” Castiel brought the camera back to his face and waited for Dean to skate back out into the middle, purposefully  _ not _ snapping a photo of his backside as he skated away. 

The music started again, and Castiel began to take pictures. 

This time, Dean fell during one of the earlier jumps in the routine, but managed to keep upright during the jump he usually fell during, which Castiel found to be particularly interesting. What caused someone to fall during something they could absolutely do? If it was so random, no wonder Dean practised so much. 

The music ended, and Castiel dropped his camera back down to look through the pictures. 

“Got enough yet?” Dean asked, accepting a water bottle from Jo and downing almost the entirety of it in one go. 

“I think so, yes.” Castiel pulled up a picture of Dean mid-jump and showed it to him. 

“Damn.” Dean scratched at his head and leaned on the wall. “You’re actually really good at this.” 

A pleased smile found its way into Castiel’s face. 

“Thank you... I try.” Castiel let the camera drop back onto his chest, and pulled his glasses back down from where they were resting on top of his head. 

“Do you think you could send me some of those?” Dean asked, wiping at his forehead again as he stepped out of the rink and sat on a nearby bench. Off the ice, his grace in the skates became a slightly comical clunkiness. “Bobby -  my coach - keeps talking to me about doing some PR stuff. Getting my social media presence back out there. Think I could use some of these?”

Castiel shrugged and wiped the lense off with the sleeve of his shirt before putting the cap back on. “Of course. They’re not very professional-looking, though.”

“They look good to me. I’ll make sure to credit you  _ and  _ I’ll even take you out for coffee in twenty minutes as a thank you.”

Castiel blinked and didn’t say anything, double-checking with his echo memory to make sure he’d heard the right thing. 

“You do drink coffee, right?”

“Oh,” he said, when he realized that it was - in fact - what Dean had actually said. “Well, alright. “

“Unless you don’t want to, or have somewhere to be or something -” Dean added hastily, and bent down to begin untying the laces on his skates. 

“No, no. I - I’m free.” 

How did he explain that he was just caught off-guard, because this sort of thing had never happened to him before? 

Probably better just to leave it. 

“Cool.” Dean looked back up and smiled. “I’ll go change into less gross clothes. Want to meet me at the coffee place just down the street?”

Castiel found himself nodding like he did this every weekend.

“See you tomorrow, Jo!” Dean grabbed at his skates and waved as he headed back to what Castiel assumed was some sort of changing room. 

Castiel let out a slow breath. He had already accepted that he’d been wildly unprepared for all that was Dean Winchester - but there was something he didn't understand. For someone that seemed so charismatic and good with people, why had Sam been so insistent that Dean didn’t have many friends? 

Castiel tilted his head to the side as he watched Dean turn the corner. 

“Charming, isn’t he?” 

Castiel jumped when Jo spoke and looked to see a small smirk present on her face; he’d forgotten she was there. 

“Unfortunately,” he murmured. 

****

“Wow, that long, huh?”

Castiel nodded solemnly as he sipped at his straight, black coffee. “Yes. It’s still only just a hobby, though. It’s difficult to make a living as a photographer.”

“I’ll bet.” Dean folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, looking completely unbothered and perfectly at home in the buzz of the cafe around him. “Still, you seem really good. I’m sure you’ll have tons of people asking you for photoshoots.”

“Maybe one day.” Castiel cleared his throat and set the cup down, feeling a little self conscious. So far they’d spent the past ten minutes talking about him and his hobbies. Dean  _ must _ be bored of faking interest in photography. “But I’m definitely not the most interesting person in the room, Dean.”

He looked at him pointedly, but Dean raised an eyebrow and seemed to look just over Castiel’s shoulder. 

“You’re right. That lady in the corner looks like she’s seen some shit.”

“ _ Dean _ .”

“Cas.”

Castiel quirked his head at the nickname. Many people had used it before - but he found that he liked the way it sounded dropping from Dean’s lips, more than any other time he’d heard it. 

“So, how did you become a professional figure skater?” Castiel asked, trying to drive the conversation to a better topic. “What made a young boy decide that this was going to be his path in life?”

“Honestly?” Dean grinned and pointed at his feet. “Knife shoes.”

“Knife shoes?” Castiel held back a laugh. 

Dean nodded solemnly. “After watching a few hockey movies, I thought they were the coolest things ever. Ended up begging my mom for skating lessons so I could use the coveted knife shoes.” He picked up his drink and took a dramatic sip. “My dad kept telling me to go for hockey, but as soon as I knew enough to move on to sports, I had already fallen in love with figure skating.” 

He watched as Dean sighed and shook his head. 

“And what does he think, now?” Castiel asked curiously. 

“Probably that he doesn’t have enough alcohol in front of him,” Dean said wryly. 

Ah. There was a line there that he’d probably crossed. 

“You took kind of a long break from skating, right?” Castiel mentioned, in an attempt to change the subject again. “I may have… googled you. It was something I noticed while browsing.”

“Yep. That’s why I’m training like crazy, now.” Dean leaned forward and adjusted his jacket before resting his elbows on the table. “I’ve got a lot to make up for and a lot to re-learn.”

“Why the break?”

Dean waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, just some stuff I was going through. You know how it is.” He cleared his throat abruptly. “Have you decided which picture you’re going to use?”

Castiel leaned back ever so slightly at the curveball of a subject change as Dean grabbed the bottom of his chair and moved it closer. He supposed he deserved that, for all of the directions he’d attempted in the past few minutes. 

He wiped his hands on his jeans and gently picked up his camera, turning it on with a gentle flick. 

“Not for certain, but I have one that I especially like. Care to see?”

“Lay it on me.”

Castiel flipped through the shots quickly until he found the one that he liked the most, and turned it so Dean could see. 

Dean’s curious smile dropped almost immediately. 

“But - that’s just me falling.”

Castiel nodded and looked at it again. He’d taken it during one of Dean’s failed jumps. In it, Dean was in the process of falling backwards, arms outstretched in front of him and leg twisted in a way that didn’t  _ quite  _ look painful, but definitely wrong. Dean’s eyes were wide and his back was curled, already bracing for impact. 

“I know. I like it.” Castiel smiled down at the screen, appreciating how lucky he’d got with the framing of it. “The photos of you being successful are adequate, of course, but there’s a… sort of beauty in your failure, I think.” He paused, licking his lips. “Maybe that’s not the right word, but the motion is more prominent when you’re falling than in any of the other shots. You look more alive - the look in your eyes. It’s like you’re already ready to pick yourself back up again, the moment you hit the ground.”

He drew his gaze back upwards when Dean didn’t say anything else, blushing when he saw that Dean was staring at him with an odd expression on his face. 

“Sorry,” he said, trying to play it off with an awkward smile. “I just mean… I think it looks… cool.”

Dean shrugged and lifted his cup into the air, pretending to toast it in Castiel’s direction. “Whatever you say, Cas. You’re the artist.”

Castiel shut the camera off and set it back down on the table. “Obviously, you don’t have to use that for any social media. My class will be the only ones to see the picture of you falling, as long as it’s OK by you…” He let his tone tilt up an inflected question there, and Dean gave an uncaring little nod-shrug-smile combination. “I’ll send you the rest of the photographs and you can do with them what you will.”

He fumbled around for a few moments before managing to pull out a pen from his pocket and slid his napkin across the table to Dean. 

“Would you mind giving me your email address so that I can send them to you?”

Dean plucked the pen from Castiel’s grasp and quickly scribbled something down on the flimsy surface before handing it back with a smile. 

“There.”

Castiel grasped the napkin and frowned. “But this is a phone number, not an email.”

“Damn, you’re right.” Dean’s smile widened. “I guess you’ll have to text me for it.”

Castiel gawked at Dean, mouth open, as Dean stood and tossed his empty styrofoam cup into a trash can from a distance and turned, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“I need to go take a shower and stuff, but… I’ll talk to you later?”

Castiel nodded and slowly held up the inked napkin, trying to convey in silent motions that they would - in fact - talk later. 

“Later, Cas. It was nice meeting you.”

And with that, Dean Winchester left the cafe, and Castiel was still left staring at the exit. 

He had a lot to talk to Sam about. 


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel yawned and pushed his glasses aside, vaguely aware that his eyes ached from staring at his computer screen for hours without a break. It wasn’t a new feeling for him -  it was a malady that he had grown more and more familiar with recently. He blinked and squinted in the dim lighting, only just aware that the light in his apartment had faded since he’d begun editing the pictures.

Out of the two hundred and thirteen photographs of Dean that he’d taken, he’d managed to narrow the photos that he genuinely liked enough for Dean to use down to twelve. Most of the pictures had Dean captured in various spins, jumps, and twists, and had the other qualifier of a face that didn’t look ridiculous. It was only to be expected that many of Castiel’s captured moments would also feature Dean making an unintentionally silly-looking face. He had much more important things to be concentrating on, after all.

Castiel sat back and let out a long breath of air.

He’d been staring at Dean Winchester’s face for over four hours, and he hadn’t once gotten bored of it.

Every aspect of him was interesting from every angle. From glimpses of green that were captured during moments where Dean’s eyes were wide with excitement, to the delightful wrinkles that gathered around his nose when he was strumming an imaginary guitar - Castiel found everything about him fascinating.

It was only to be expected, of course, from a photographer. Finding a perfect muse was something he’d heard was quite an experience. It had to be only natural that he was feeling drawn to Dean.

He cracked his neck and did one last quick run through of the pictures, double-checking the coloring and saturation before loading them all into an email.

Castiel pulled up the text that Dean had sent him with his email address, before typing it into the computer.

 

 _to: Dean Winchester < _ [ _impala67@gmail.com_ ](mailto:impala67@gmail.com) _ > _

_subject: Pictures_

 

_Dean,_

_Here are the best of the best from the photographs I took today. Feel free to use them however you’d like. Thank you again for letting me use you as a muse. Don’t worry, the one of you falling isn’t included in this; you won’t have to look at it._

- _Castiel Novak_.

 

Before he could think about too much, he hit the send button and sat back in his chair with a satisfied hum. He’d done a lot of work in a short amount of time and it felt very good.

 

Just as he was about to go and find something to heat up in the microwave, he heard the sound of a notification, and saw - with a little jump in his chest - an unopened email from Dean Winchester, already.

 

 _from: Dean Winchester < _ [ _impala67@gmail.com_ ](mailto:impala67@gmail.com) _ > _

_to: Castiel Novak < _ [ _castiel.novak@gmail.com_ ](mailto:castiel.novak@gmail.com) _ > _

_subject: Re: Pictures_

 

_Cas,_

_Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever looked so good in my LIFE. I don’t know how you do it. Hey, thanks again for letting me use these! Bobby thinks it’s a great idea to have some cool pics of me on hand to post. Be sure to let me know how you do on your project haha. I want to know what grade I get you._

 

_Dean_

  1. _S. Do you have a website that I can link anything I post to?_



_P.P.S. Sam says you have a health test soon. Good luck!_

  


Castiel smiled to himself before checking the time again. His heart leapt again, but for a completely different reason: he’d almost completely forgotten to turn in the photo of Dean falling, and it was due in a few hours. Not too bad; he could color correct it very quickly and upload it to his professor’s website while praying for a good grade.

 

Overall, he thought he did okay - maybe better than okay. The motion was obviously caught in a single moment and he highly doubted that anyone else had ever turned in a picture of a professional figure skater before. Professor Moseley was difficult to please, but he felt more confident in this assignment than he had for most of the others.

He quickly sent Dean a link to his website - which he would have to update soon if people were going to actually be looking at it - and thanked him for the luck that he would sorely be needing on the test, before sending it off into the internet and getting up to make himself some macaroni and cheese.

Halfway through boiling the water, his phone pinged, signifying a text alert - and he raised an eyebrow when he saw it was Dean again. Had he forgotten to send him something? Was something wrong with a picture?

 _9:25pm - Dean Winchester:_   _Don’t forget that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell!_

Castiel rolled his eyes fondly and poured the noodles into the pot before typing out his own response.

_9:27pm - Castiel Novak: I appreciate the reminder… but our unit test is on drug addiction, not the parts of the cell._

_9:33pm - Dean Winchester: Oh._

_9:34pm - Dean Winchester: Well in that case, don’t forget that 86% of people who are addicted to heroin started out abusing painkillers._

Castiel paused in his draining of the noodles to squint at the text on his phone. Had Dean really googled a statistic on drug abuse just so he could send it to him?

_9:35pm - Dean Winchester: I don’t know if that’s totally accurate but I was told that once._

_9:37pm - Castiel Novak: I’ll be sure to remember it._

Once the meal was made, Castiel scooped a portion into a bowl for himself, and sat down at the small kitchen table - a single light turned on above him, to give him enough light to see his food by.

***

Castiel tapped his pencil against the table as he waited for Sam to show up for their study group. Dean had already texted him quite a few times during the day, and it made Castiel wonder if he was daring enough to keep his phone in his pocket while he skated - or if he’d taken the day off. Given what he knew about Dean, it was probably not the latter.

“Hey!”

Castiel looked up as Sam dropped his bag next to a chair and sat himself down while brushing his hair out of his face.

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam pulled out the giant health textbook and dropped it onto the table in front of him with a loud thud.

“So, how did the shoot go?” he asked, and Castiel frowned at the air of nonchalance he was trying to display.

“Perfectly fine,” Castiel said, “I got the picture that I needed and I’m currently waiting for it to be graded. You were right, by the way. Dean was a perfect subject for it.”

Sam smiled as he flipped a few pages. “Nice. Dean said he had fun with it. And that he somehow roped you into getting coffee.”

Castiel nodded slowly, taking a deep breath before speaking again, wanting to probe Sam for more information on Dean. Most of what he knew he’d either googled or surmised from things Dean had said, and while he didn’t want to be too invasive, he was still curious.

“Is he always so…”

Castiel paused as Sam stared back, half-hoping that he’d fill in the blank for him.

“... forward?”

A small smile appeared on Sam’s face as he cocked his head. “Was he?”

Castiel frowned slightly and began fiddling with his pencil. “Is he not?

“He used to be.” Sam flipped open his own health book and began writing in the notebook he propped next to him. “Anyway, what did you get for seventh question on the review? I thought the question was a little unclear -”

Castiel let the change of subject happen, allowing his mind to focus on what was important. He needed the study time before the test, anyway.

***

 _10:25am - Dean Winchester:_   _Hey Cas! Check it out! [Link attached]_

Castiel looked up at his professor, fully aware that class was just about to begin and that he should start paying attention - but this was Dean, and his curiousity got the better of him. He tapped on the link that Dean had sent him and waited for a few moments to load on the campus’s less-than-stellar wifi.

An instagram page popped up on his screen - Dean’s instagram, from the looks of it - and while there were already a few pictures that looked like they’d been posted before, the most recent was one that he recognized. It was an image that he’d taken and sent to Dean via email.

It was a beautiful shot of the figure skater, though Castiel would argue that any picture of Dean was a beautiful one, and had Dean captured mid-jump while exuberantly playing an air guitar.

Castiel tapped on the picture to enlarge it and almost gasped out loud at the number of likes and comments on it. He recognized, of course, that it wasn’t an incredible amount, but just over a thousand likes more than he’d ever received on anything.

 _Glad to be back in training! I’ve got some nice stuff planned for Skate America…Thanks_ **_@castielnovak-photography_ ** _for the awesome shot! Amazing that he can get something like this out of the lousy subject that I am. #watchoutworld #skateamerica_

He stared at the description, grinning to himself as he imagined Dean typing it out.

Next, he scrolled down the comments wondering what people had to say about the photograph and about Dean in general. He’d briefly forgotten that Dean was at least relatively famous in the figure skating world, or at least he had been when he was younger. Part of bolstering his social media presence was most likely to help re-invent his name again in those circles.

 **_bombshellkie_ ** _Love it!_

 **_sk8erdie_ ** _glad ur back :D_

 **_420bladesit_ ** _WHAT SONG ARE YOU SKATING TO I NEED TO KNOW_

 **_icetomeet_you_ ** _heard you went to jail or something you’re back??_

 **_axel_dentallyinlove_ ** _rooting 4 you!!!! Welcome back!!!!!_

 **_helldorado_ ** _daaaaamn you glowed up_

Castiel let out a huff of air in amusement as he scrolled through the comments. Some were invasive, some he couldn’t believe people had actually posted, but most were overwhelmingly supportive and happy about Dean’s return. Overall, the figure skating community seemed to be a nice community to interact with and be a part of. 

After hovering over the keyboard on his phone for a few minutes, Castiel licked his lips and typed out his own comment on the picture. 

**_castielnovak-photography_ ** _ I’d hardly call you lousy. “Flawless” is a word that fits better. _

He pressed  _ Post _ before he could think about it too much - especially the fact that he could just text Dean instead of doing this in a public setting - but he at least didn’t want all of Dean’s followers to think Dean had been difficult to photograph. 

The comment was swallowed by the mass of commenters and was most likely lost in the sea instagram handles, but when his phone pinged a few minutes later with a reply from Dean, he smiled. 

**_Icepala67 @castielnovak-photography_ ** _ Drop by the rink again tomorrow and I’ll PROVE just how lousy I am ;) _

Castiel dropped his head into his hands in embarrassment, even though he knew no one could see him. That was a flirtation, wasn’t it? And an invitation. He would be able to stop by in the morning if he could get Meg to cover his shift, but then he’d have to go to class immediately after. 

An opportunity to spend time with Dean again, and the possibility for more pictures?

He’d make it work.

**_castielnovak-photography @icepala67_ ** _ I’ll be there, but it’s never going to happen. _

He let out a deep breath and pulled up Meg’s phone number, praying to God that she was feeling generous. 

***

This time, as it was eight o’clock on a weekday, Castiel was able to just walk right in through the front door of the arena and make his way over to the ice rink. Luckily, Meg had only made him beg a  _ little _ before she agreed to take his morning shift today, and he’d consider that a win. 

He pulled his jacket closer around himself and watched the five skaters currently sharing the ice, but Castiel’s attention was immediately drawn to Dean, who seemed to own the rink in a way none of the other skaters could light a candle to. 

Almost without thinking, Castiel pushed his glasses up onto the top of his head again and brought the camera to his face, snapping a few candid pictures of Dean before he noticed Castiel was there. 

As usual, Dean encompassed a graceful energy and made every movement look effortless - like a firework contained in a glass jar, the threat of explosion more likely with every passing minute. 

Castiel was privileged to watch it happen. 

From Castiel’s vantage point, it looked like Dean was practising a specific few moves over and over, but every time he repeated them, something changed. Either the jump looked different or the hand movements grew smaller or the order of everything was moved around. 

Whatever he was practising, it wasn’t anything from the  _ Back in Black  _ sequence he’d originally seen. Castiel leaned against the rink opening, fully content to watch Dean perform for as long as he’d let him.

There were now two versions of Dean on the ice that Castiel had seen, now. One where he was more or less completely alone, and one where he had to share the rink with others. The latter seemed to be a much more conservative version of the one previous, but that could just be that he was practising a different kind of performance. 

Dean finally looked up and waved when he noticed Castiel watching, quickly skating over to the opening and stopping with more skill than Castiel would ever have in his entire life. 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean grinned and leaned against the rink wall in a way that should have been impossible for someone wearing ice skates. “ _ Ice _ to see you.” 

Castiel stared back, letting the pun hang stagnant in the air and refusing to crack a smile. 

“Get it? Because ‘Ice’ sounds like-”

“Yes, I got it.” 

Castiel continued to stare back until he couldn’t hold back a small chuckle. 

“That was awful.”

“I’ve got a lifetime of ice-related puns up my sleeves so get ready for those,” Dean said with a wink. “So, did you see how many likes your pictures have been getting?”

Castiel nodded. “I have. Though I’m sure it’s because of you and not me.”

“Bullshit.” Dean said with a laugh. “It’s because you take damn good pictures.”

Castiel forced down the surge of pride that he felt at the words, so that he could win the argument. 

“I guarantee it. You could post an awful picture and still get a decent amount of attention for it.” 

Instead of continuing the argument, Dean pulled out his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times before holding it up in Castiel’s direction. 

Castiel cocked his head to the side. 

“What are you-”

A digitized shutter sound reached his ears, and Castiel made a noise of betrayal as he leaned over the side of the rink to make a desperate grab for Dean’s phone. 

“Ah, ah.” Dean easily skated backwards and out of Castiel’s reach, his eyes never leaving the screen, though a wide smile was prevalent on his face. “I have a point to prove.”

“ _ Dean -” _

“Aaaaaand posted.” Dean wiggled the phone in his fingers and pocketed it again. “It’s a little unfair, though. It’s not an  _ awful  _ picture, because you’re in it, but it wasn’t taken by a professional so it’s really not great.”

Castiel gaped at him, already feeling a tendril of dread wind around his gut. Dean had posted a picture of him online. Sure, he took hundreds of pictures of other people a day but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with  _ himself _ being the subject. 

Castiel pulled out his own phone and quickly made his way to Dean’s instagram page and tapped on the most recent picture. 

The angle was awkward, and the photograph was a little blurry, but you could still see Castiel’s face staring at the camera in confusion and suspicion. 

_ Hey, everyone! Meet my photographer,  _ **_@castielnovak-photography._ **

The likes were already in the low hundreds. 

Castiel let out a long, drawn-out sigh of acceptance before turning his phone back off and shoving it into his jacket pocket. 

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Castiel leaned against the side of the rink as Dean deemed it safe to skate back within arm’s reach of Castiel. 

“I sure do.” Dean grinned and waved his hand above himself gracefully - a movement that Castiel vaguely recognized from the routine that he’d watched Dean practise just a few minutes ago. 

“Did you decide you didn’t like your  _ Back in Black  _ routine?” Castiel asked curiously. He’d really enjoyed all of the energy and excitement from the rock song, and if Dean was forgoing it for a more mellow option, he’d probably be slightly disappointed. 

This time, it was Dean’s turn to look confused. 

“No, I like it. Definitely keeping it.”

“Oh,” Castiel gestured towards the center of the rink. “I just thought I saw you practising a new one.”

Dean paused, then let out a laugh. 

“Oh, I got it. Right. So, in order to compete in the Grand Prix Series I need two routines. A short program and a long program. I’ve already got my free skate pretty much done and choreographed, but I can’t figure something out for the long program.” Dean stretched his arms over his head as he spoke through a grimace. “I don’t know why it’s so difficult.” 

Castiel nodded as he committed the information to memory. Two routines. Got it. 

“I’ve already got the song and the costume picked out, but  _ fuck -  _ I don’t know why I can’t get the choreography to work.” 

While Castiel understood on a basic level that figure skating and photography were nowhere near similar, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of camaraderie with the feeling Dean was describing. There had been many times that Castiel would have all of the equipment necessary for a shoot with the perfect lighting and even an enthusiastic subject, but he couldn’t get the photos to turn out the way he wanted. 

“Maybe you just need a muse,” Castiel suggested with a shrug. 

Dean paused in his stretching, then nodded with an amused smile. 

“Probably. Have any suggestions?”

Castiel looked down at the camera hanging from his neck and rested a hand on top of it. 

“Not really.” 

A female skater in a tight leotard-looking outfit with golden sequins zoomed by and successfully twirled through the air, landing the jump flawlessly. 

Castiel tore his eyes away from her and raised an eyebrow at Dean. 

“You mentioned you had a costume?”

***

“Wow.”

The urge to turn on his camera and capture the way the reds on the fabric clashed against the hood of the Impala - where Dean had laid his costume out to show it off - was great, but Dean hadn’t given him permission to take a photo of something that could very well be a secret, so he resisted it.

“Wow?” 

Castiel nodded at the question and reached out to touch costume. 

It was a single one-piece outfit, half-covered in a sequined red that faded perfectly into a smoky black color in specific places, creating an interesting dynamic on the costume. He had no doubt that the colors would be dizzying to watch on the ice. 

“Thank you,” Dean said proudly. “I had someone design it specifically for me.” 

“Really?” Castiel ran his hand over the sequins on the leg, watching them sparkle in the sunlight. “Does it have a significance?” 

Castiel looked back up when he noticed the distinct lack of an answer from Dean, and saw him shifting awkwardly and pressing his lips together as if he was searching for an answer. 

“It - well,” Dean finally began after a few moments, “The costume- and the whole program, really - kind of symbolize something from my past that I’m not proud of. But it’s something I overcame and I’m trying to prove to myself that… it’s okay.” 

Dean nodded slowly and patted at the material before lifting it from the hood of the car and folding it gently back up. 

“I hope it works.”

Castiel paused for a few moments, unsure of what to say, and rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder in support. 

“I think it’s a great idea.”

Dean shook his head as he ran his own hand over the fabric in his grasp. 

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I don’t have to.” 

A smile crept its way onto Dean’s face, and it was as if the sun had decided to come out from behind the clouds. Castiel lifted his camera, lined up the shot, and took a quick picture of Dean before he could protest. 

“What was that for?” Dean nudged Castiel with his shoulder as he let the camera drop again. 

“No reason. Inspiration just struck.” 

Dean’s smile widened as he put the costume back into the trunk of the Impala and turned around, leaning on the side of the car. 

“Listen, Cas,” Dean folded his arms against his chest and shuffled his feet. “I was talking to Bobby - my coach - and he really liked the pictures you took. We were talking and… if you’re interested… we thought it would be a good idea to hire you to take more. For promotional stuff and things like that.”

Castiel blinked. 

“Are - are you serious?”

Dean just held out a hand extended towards Castiel with warmth in his eyes. 

“You’d have to take lots of pictures of me skating… and anything else you find interesting, you can feel free to photograph,” Dean winked. “Though I’d prefer that any pics you take of me that aren’t family-friendly remain for personal use only.” 

Castiel pushed back a glowing smile and nodded solemnly, took Dean’s outstretched hand, and firmly shook it. 

“Deal.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bobby, Dean’s coach, sent Castiel the actual outline and contract in an email the next day. It seemed like it was an alright deal; he mainly just had to follow Dean around during competitions and one practice a week, and take photographs of anything that he thought would make for a good picture, and they could use anything they liked for social media promotion.

He squinted at the contract, attempting to read it on his phone screen just before his photography class started, and closed it with a sigh as Professor Moseley walked into the room.

Today was the day they reviewed the photography assignment.

“Welcome, class. I hope you all had a good weekend.”

Castiel rubbed the palms of his hands on the top of his jeans to get rid of the sweat as he waited for Professor Moseley to set up the projector.

“I have to say, I was disappointed with most of the submissions,” she said, pulling up her computer screen for the whole class to see, and clicked on a folder of photos. “Not all of them, but it seemed as though some of you took the easy way out.”

Castiel felt his heart sink at her words.

It was him. It had to be. Falling had been the wrong choice.

The first photograph was a picture of a waterfall cascading down a cliffside. The photographer had apparently decided to try their hand at a long-term exposure effect, and while the water looked serene and the picture was visually stunning, it didn’t look much like motion.

“A good attempt, however this is one of five waterfall pictures in the class. In the future, please think outside the box.”

Castiel winced on behalf of person across the room that he saw slump in their seat.

Professor Moseley praised someone who had probably spent quite a few hours trying to capture the perfect water droplet rebounding from a glass of water and Castiel had to admit that an upwards, straining motion had been captured perfectly.

There were a few pictures of people playing sports as well, though one had tried to use the long-term motion effect and ended up just looking messy.

Castiel’s hands balled into fists when his own picture appeared on the whiteboard in front of them.

There was Dean Winchester, in all his glory, falling gracefully backwards.

“Beautiful.”

His heart stopped when he heard Professor Moseley speak.

“A masterpiece in itself. The composition is incredible. You can almost feel yourself brace for impact when you look at it.” She smiled and nodded her head slowly. “And I have never seen someone submit this type of photograph before, so well done on the creative side as well.”

Castiel tried to remain as impassive as possible, though he could feel the pride swell in his chest.

She _liked_ it.

Most of the class had packed up their things fairly quickly by the end of the class period, as their spirits had been deflated, and Castiel tried not to seem too happy about how the assignment had gone down.

“Castiel?”

He swung his bag over his shoulder and looked up.

“Yes?”

Professor Moseley waved a hand at him, gesturing for him to come closer.

Castiel chewed on the inside of his cheek as he made his way up towards the front of the classroom, most of the students already having left. Had he done something wrong? Did she think he cheated? _Had_ he cheated? He did a mental check list of all of the rules she’d given for the assignment and he didn’t _think_ he’d broken any.

“How are you doing, Castiel?” Professor Mosely greeted him with a smile as she packed up her things into her own bag.

“Fine, thank you,” he lied, as the bundle of nerves in his stomach tightened.

“I wanted to thank you again for your submission. I thought it was wonderful.”

Castiel let himself minutely relax; he ducked his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“Thank you for the assignment. I learned a lot and had a good time with it.”

Professor Moseley crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“You’re very talented, Castiel,” she said, and pulled out a piece of paper from the bag at her side. “Here. I’m not sure if you were aware, but the art museum is going to be accepting submissions again soon from artists and photographers state-wide. Have you considered submitting anything?”

Castiel stared down at the flyer in her hands, and felt a cruel sense of irony stare back at him.

Of course he knew about it.

He’d been the one to set up the flyers that morning.

Getting his photography hung in the museum had been a dream of his for a long time - for longer than he’d worked there - but a dream was all it had ever been. The museum only chose the best of the best and the more work he saw from others the more he knew that he could never match anything as stunning as what had been chosen. Why waste his time on something that would never happen?

Besides, what if he submitted something and his co-workers found out about it? Meg would never let him live it down if it didn’t get chosen.

“Yes, I’d heard of it.” Castiel confirmed with a nod. “I actually work at the museum.”

“Oh!” Professor Moseley smiled widely. “Then I’m sure you’re already planning a submission! The guidelines say that they’re looking for a three-part portfolio to exhibit and I think it would show off your talents nicely.”

Castiel pressed his lips together and tried not to show how little hope he really had.

“Thank you, Professor. I’m not currently planning on submitting anything, but I’ll think about it.” Her face changed; Castiel adjusted the strap of his bag awkwardly and took a step backwards.

“Please do,” she said, a little sternly.

She waved at him one last time before he turned around, letting his face fall when he knew she couldn’t see.

It was just one more person to disappoint if his submission failed.

***

Castiel had spent a majority of the weekend texting Dean when he should have been studying. Of course, he attended his study group with Sam and was fairly confident in the test that was coming up, seeing as he’d done fine in the addiction test. Sam had scored higher than him, but not by much, and he didn’t consider it a contest.

Dean texted in spurts.

There would be long hours of stretched silence where it felt like hesitant texts were sent out into the void, lost somewhere in the midst of cell service and satellites. It was only when he realized that Dean was taking the small amount of time _not_ practising just to text him that Castiel’s anxiety about it faded.

The texts weren’t even about anything important. Mostly they just updated each other about their day - though Castiel was holding back the information about the A he’d received on Dean’s photo. He wanted to tell him in person that Sunday.

“Who’s Dean?”

Castiel jumped and nearly dropped his phone on the front desk when he heard Meg’s voice interrupt the silence right next to his left ear.

She snickered when he shoved his phone in his pocket.

“None of your business,” he muttered.

“Oooooo.” Meg twirled and sat herself on the counter, leaning towards him with purpose. “Do you finally have a boyfriend?”

Castiel could almost feel his cheeks bursting into flames as he shook his head. This wasn’t that. This was a professional and friendly relationship between a photographer and an ice skater, who was extremely good-looking as well as kind and humorous and flirtatious -

“No, Meg.” Castiel busied himself with pulling up the list of the museum’s future exhibits, and scanning the list until he found the one that his professor had been talking about the day before. It was still a few months until they started accepting submissions.

“Do ya want to?”

Castiel batted her hand away after she tapped him once on the nose.

“It’s complicated and - once again - none of your business.”

Meg leaned back and swung her legs back and forth with a smirk on her face.

“Have you asked him out yet?”

Castiel rubbed at his temples and let out a long sigh, knowing full well that Meg wouldn’t leave until she got the information she was looking for.

“No, I haven’t. I wasn’t planning on it.”

He continued to stare at the screen, reading the submission guidelines three times over before actually absorbing any information.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like rejection.”

Castiel leaned back in his seat and folded his arms, meeting her at her own, self-imposed staring match.

Meg raised an eyebrow.

“How long have you known him?”

He paused, pursing his lips together to figure out the specifics.

“Two weeks.”

“Does he swing your way?”

“I think so?”

“And are you going to be friends for a while?”

 _Well_ , Castiel thought, _most likely?_ If he was going to be Dean’s photographer, he was going to be around a lot and Dean at least seemed to enjoy his presence. Chances were that they were going to be spending a lot of time together and remain friends for at least as long as he worked with him.

“Possibly.”

“Well,” Meg shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and stared at the ceiling. “You’re probably still going to want to ask him out in a few months from now. Knowing you.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve liked someone enough to consider asking them out.” She held up her hand and balled it into a fist. “Look, see? None. I could have used no hands, but I wanted to make a point.”

“I still don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

“Look, Clarence,” Meg rested a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and gave him a look of pitying understanding. “You’re gonna be attached for a while. I can guarantee it. If he’s not gonna be interested, don’t you think it’s better to get the rejection out of the way _now_ while it’s still new, and not later when it could hurt more?”

Castiel pressed his lips together and dropped his gaze to the marble countertop. There was no denying that Meg had a point, no matter how much he knew she was not the one to go to for advice. If Dean wasn’t interested, then it _would_ be better to get it out of the way now.

Theoretically.

“Thank you for your opinion, Meg,” Castiel said, brushing the hand from his shoulder. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Meg grinned and hopped down from the counter, her heels clicking loudly on the floor as she walked back towards the exhibits. “Let me know how it goes!”

Castiel only relaxed when the sound of her shoes faded in the distance. He sunk into the chair and ran his hands through his hair.

He liked Dean, but wasn’t two weeks too soon?

What was the worst that could realistically happen, though? Dean would most likely politely turn him down, and they would shift to having an slightly awkward relationship. They’d remain a little bit more distant than before.

Maybe Meg was right. It was still new. It wouldn’t hurt as much as if he tried a few months down the line.

Time to jump into the fire.

***

“You’ve never skated before?”

Castiel stared at the pair of skates Dean was holding towards him incredulously. He considered for a moment, and then shook his head.

“Of course not,” he said. “Everything about it is dangerous until you’ve mastered it. Until that point, you have weapons strapped to your feet that you have no idea how to utilize.” Castiel frowned, but still managed to take a quick picture of Dean holding out the accursed shoes, because he couldn’t resist a nice angle.

“But it’s _fun,”_ Dean shook them, causing the laces to swing back and forth. “And there’s no one else here for you to accidentally slice open.”

Castiel sighed and did a quick scan of the empty rink. It was Sunday again, and the silence that accompanied the nearly abandoned ice rink was almost as quiet as the museum. Almost.

“You’ll be here.”

“If you managed to hurt me... I’d be very impressed,” Dean said, looking almost smug.

Castiel looked down and pretended to fiddle with his camera. Dean made figure skating look extremely easy and graceful, but he didn’t even have to set foot into ice skates to know that he would fall instantly on his face if he ever tried.

“I’ll look like an idiot,” he muttered, staring at his feet.

“I don’t mind.”

“I’ll fall.”

“I’ll catch you.”

Castiel let out a resigned sigh and faced Dean’s charming smile, setting his camera gently down on a bench before grabbing the ice skates out of Dean’s hands.

Dean winked and leaned back against a wall as Castiel struggled to get the shoes laced up to a comfortable tightness. He got them to a point where it was almost painfully so, but he remembered Dean had once talked about how detrimental loose ice skates could be and he refused to risk it.

Wobbling to his feet, Castiel took a hesitant step forward towards the ice rink, waiting for the moment where he’d twist his ankle and fall to the ground - but it never came.

So maybe walking on solid ground was going to be easier than ice.

_You can do this. You can do this. You can do this._

Castiel repeated the mantra in his head as he continued to step forward, not surprised to see that Dean had already positioned himself on the ice ahead of him.

Gripping the side of the rink, Castiel stared at the ice and slowly - ever so slowly - set a skate onto the slippery surface.

So far, so good.

Another skate landed on ice, and Castiel felt himself moving forward without his consent as he tried to catch his balance.

A steady hand grabbed him by the elbow and Castiel immediately gripped onto it as though it were a lifeline being thrown to a drowning man, steadying him through rough waves.

“Look at you. Standing on the ice and everything.”

Castiel looked up to see Dean beaming at him as he skated slowly backwards, dragging Castiel along with him.

Dean’s grip loosened minutely as he switched from gripping Castiel’s elbow to loosely grabbing both hands  and helping him balance evenly.  

“Not so bad, right?

Castiel only grimaced in response, hping it conveyed that he was not nearly as convinced of his safety as Dean seemed to be.

Castiel clenched up again as Dean sped up his backwards movement minimally, increasing Castiel’s speed.

“Relax. I got you.”

“I have knives strapped to my feet,” Castiel said through gritted teeth. “I _can’t_ relax.”

All that did was make Dean laugh loudly, the sound echoing through the empty building. It should have sounded spooky, Castiel thought, but in fact the reminder of how alone they were in the big space felt anything but. It warmed him.

“I’ll lead you around the rink a few times. You just try to take some steps forward.”

Castiel let Dean balance him and after a few rounds around the ice rink, Dean seemed to think that Castiel could skate on his own. Slowly, but he could do it.

Dean clapped when Castiel had slid across the entire stretch without falling once.

“You’re a natural, Cas.”

Castiel highly doubted _that_ , but it was nice to know that he wasn’t awful at something Dean loved. At least he hadn’t yet fallen on his face and made a fool of himself.

“Now try and catch me.”

Dean lazily skated backwards, tantalizingly close to Castiel, just out of reach.

“Dean, I can’t -”

“That’s quitter talk.”

Castiel rolled his eyes as Dean did a small spin ahead of him. Instead of picking that moment to lunge, Castiel decided that his best shot at reaching him  was to use Dean’s cockiness against him.

He continued to move forward at a snail’s pace, pretending to be cautious of his every move and gingerly slid one foot in front of the other.

It wasn’t that he had _lied,_ exactly.

He really had never ice skated before.

But he’d won a few rollerblading competitions against his brothers back in the day, and this wasn’t as different as he’d thought it would be. But if Dean would continue to teach him - if they could keep having fun like this - then that was information Dean didn’t exactly need to know.

Dean smiled and slowed his own movements, and Castiel waited until he’d turned his back to do another twirl before putting on a burst of speed, and hoping he didn’t trip.

“ _Shit -_ ” Dean’s eyes widened when he saw Castiel barreling towards him, and nearly fell forward in his rush to speed forward out of Castiel’s range.

Castiel cried in triumph as he victoriously reached for Dean’s arm, only to have it move out of the way just before making contact. Instead of the solid grip he’d been hoping for, Castiel only managed to grip the long sleeve on Dean’s shirt,and he was pulling himself towards his target as he finally went crashing downwards towards the ice.

Unfortunately, his grasp on Dean’s clothing meant that Dean was dragged down with him, and the two crashed together until they landed in a heap, with Castiel facing the ceiling and somehow managing to be mostly on top of Dean, with Dean’s arm splayed across his chest.

There was a moment of silence before they simultaneously burst out laughing.

He had no doubt that aches and bruises were going to abound in the morning, but in his opinion it was worth it.

“You alright?”

Castiel nodded when he heard Dean speak from somewhere underneath him and he flopped his arms across Dean’s.

His laughter subsided as he stared up at the ceiling, feeling Dean’s breaths calm as well. He figured he should probably roll off Dean now.

Just as he was about to brace himself against Dean’s arm, he glanced at where it was laying on his chest and realized he’d stretched the sleeve up and over Dean’s elbow in the scuffle - revealing what looked to be some slightly off-colored skin and vague scarring that patterned up the forearm and focused on the crease of his elbow.

Before he could get a clearer look, Dean stretched his arms outwards and tugged the sleeve down in one motion, effectively hiding everything from view.

“Well, that sure didn’t end how I thought it would,” he said lightly.

Castiel chuckled and nodded his head in agreement against Dean’s chest, the memory of the scars remaining in the back of his mind.

“I told you I’d fall.”

Castiel waited, but Dean still made no move to stand back up.

“Dean, I -”

He felt his heartbeat quicken and for once, he was glad he couldn’t see Dean’s face - not from where he’d fallen.

_You can do this._

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I was wondering - and you can obviously say no, because I know that you just employed me - or no for an entirely different reason - basically, I just want you to know that you can say ‘no’ and I won’t be offended, but I -” Castiel swallowed when he realized he was rambling. “I was wondering if you’d like to -”

“Yes.”

Castiel blinked and craned his neck to look at Dean, who looked like he’d turned red.

“Oh God, sorry. I didn’t mean to - sorry. Keep going. I’ll just…”

Dean pressed his lips together and stared at the ceiling, avoiding Castiel’s eye contact.

“What? What did you think I was going to say?”

“Nothing. Just keep going.”

Castiel rubbed at his eyes.

“Would you like to go on a date with -”

“Yes.”

Castiel gave a distressed groan as Dean laughed triumphantly, until Castiel complained that lying on the ice was too cold for him.


	5. Chapter 5

The only thing better than an art museum during the day was an art museum at night.

The groups of occasional people were non-existent after hours, and the silence that manifested was music to Castiel’s ears. Most of the time, he only witnessed this side of the museum when he took longer to close up than usual; however, Meg had apparently felt a rare combination of generosity and pity recently, and had done Castiel a favor.

“So, what is this place?”

Castiel pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and glanced at Dean, who was staring up at the old architecture with mild interest.

“It’s the art museum I work at. Have you never been here before?”

Dean shook his head and stared at the abstract statue that stood just to the right of the door, with a large sign propped next to it that read _Do Not Touch_.

“Can’t say I have. Sam used to drag me to some when we were kids… but it’s been a while.” Dean shoved his hands in his jacket pocket, chuckling like he was remembering an amusing memory. “I kinda enjoyed them. But you’re never allowed to tell him that.”

Castiel let out an amused breath of air as he unlocked the front door, holding it open until Dean was through the threshold.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

After carefully locking the door behind the two of them, Castiel clasped his hands in front of himself awkwardly as they walked down the silent hallway.

“So, what kind of stuff do you have here?”

Castiel squeezed his hands together and prayed that Dean wouldn’t have to continue bringing up conversations topics in order to keep the date rolling along. Castiel hadn’t been on a date in… a long time, and he hoped it didn’t show as much as he was sure it did.

“We have a various array of art pieces with both a permanent and non-permanent residence. Some with artists you may recognize, most you probably wouldn’t. We’re not an incredibly large museum.”

Dean nodded and carefully slipped his arm through Castiel’s, hooking them together as they walked down the hallway without saying a word.

“And, um, we - we have some photography as well...” Castiel said, forgetting for a moment how to form words as his attention was drawn to the warmth of Dean’s side against him. “We’re currently hosting a landscape exhibit that features local photographers and artists, but it’ll be closing down soon.”

“You feature local stuff?” Dean asked, pausing in front of a gorgeous stained-glass window of a night sky that took up almost an entire wall.

“The museum likes to accept submissions for different themed exhibits every now and again. Usually once or twice a year.” Castiel stared up at the same stained glass that he’d seen every day for every shift that he came in for, but this time searching for details through Dean’s eyes, wondering what he might see. “There are many talented people around, apparently.”

“I could have told you that.” Dean huffed out a laugh and nudged Castiel gently. “Have you ever made it up there?”

“I -’ Castiel cleared his throat and shook his head. “No. I haven’t.”

Dean clicked his tongue in regret and gently tugged on Castiel’s arm to continue walking down the hallway.

“Ah, no worries. I’m sure you will one day. After all, you did get an _A_ on an assignment with a picture of me”

Castiel chewed on the inside of his cheek and said nothing as they approached a room full of large framed self-portraits.

“Hey, can we take a look at the landscape exhibit?” Dean asked, looking around the room with intent, like he was going to find a hidden entrance to it. “I wanna see the local stuff.”

Castiel shrugged and began to lead them back down the way they came and up the stairway past the front desk. As soon as the stairs ended, an expansive room full of paintings and photographs, all containing some sort of landscape scenery in their construction, was directly ahead of them.

There were paintings of vague scenery with pastel hues smeared together contrasted next to stark black and white photographs of a sunset sinking behind a mountain range. All walks of life and all styles seemed to represented in one room, and it all fit together harmoniously to make Castiel feel perfectly inadequate. He was almost angry with himself for feeling it; he knew that these photos and pictures weren't supposed to be _about_ him like this, that the art wasn't supposed to play the bass notes in his self-pity symphony, but he couldn't help what he felt. He would never be this good, and it hurt to know it.

He took a deep breath and slipped his arm out from where it was hooked around Dean’s, and sat himself on the bench in the middle of the room, staring up at a photograph of a frozen lake with a woman in a white dress sitting in the snow facing away from the camera out towards the icy tundra.

“This one’s cool.”

Castiel nodded in response as Dean sat down next to him, mimicking his upwards gaze.

“Not as cool as something you could do, of course.”

Castiel smiled half-heartedly at the joke before looking back up at the picture.

“Seems a little unlikely,” he said dryly. “This photograph was given the entire center of the room. My work, you might have noticed, was not.”

“Well, maybe the judges were accidentally squinting the exact wrong way when they were looking at yours.” Dean pursed his lips and tapped at his chin.

“That would be difficult for them, as I didn’t submit anything.”

“What?” Dean’s brow furrowed and Castiel continued to stare up at the picture, determined to avoid eye contact.

“I didn’t submit anything. I never do. I never have.”

“Why not?” Dean asked curiously. “You’re really good, Cas.”

Castiel licked at his lips while he took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I like to think,” he began, dropping his gaze to his lap where his hands were clasped together, “that I possess a certain amount of skill in something that I love to do very much. Friends, teachers, family - they’ve reaffirmed this belief over time to make me confident enough in what I have to get by.”

Castiel paused and ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t like rejection. I know it makes me sound like a petulant child but - I can’t do it. I know some people thrive off of the challenge and the upwards battle but that’s not me. If I were to put my heart and soul into something and were to give it to some sort of higher power to be judged only to be told that my heart and soul wasn’t good enough - I’m worried I’d give up.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them.

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Cas.” Dean cleared his throat. “I mean, everyone’s afraid of rejection on some level. Hell, I know I’m terrified of it. I’m about to make a skating comeback and sometimes I go to bed at night and just lay awake ‘cause I don’t know if people are going to welcome me back. Sometimes I don’t think I deserve a second chance.”

Castiel frowned and studied Dean’s face. He was looking at the ground, brows furrowed with a weight of worry that he’d never noticed before. Dean was very good at hiding all of the emotion that he could clearly see written on his face right now.

“The way I see it, rejection means one of two things. Either they weren’t right for you, or you weren’t right for them _yet._ And no matter which it is, it’s not something to be ashamed of, you know? You either find what you were meant for and get a better opportunity later, or you come back once you’ve learned what you were supposed to. It doesn’t mean you’re not amazing.”

Dean smiled to himself.

“When I was a freshman in high school I wanted to play football with the rest of my friends. I was still skating, but I was going to drop it if I made the team. When I found out that I didn’t make it, I cried for like a week and choreographed my first routine about how mad I was that I didn’t get to play football.” Dean chuckled and rubbed at his forehead. “Bobby happened to see it and decided to reach out and offer to be my coach. The rest is history.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t right for me.”

Castiel side-eyed him. “Fair. But you also had pretty smooth sailing when it came to figure skating, you know. You had a good fall-back.”

Dean leaned back on the bench and rested his hands behind his head.

“I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily call fucking up your career - to what should have been the point of no return - completely smooth sailing, but you have a point.”

Another beat of silence.

“What happened?” Castiel asked, his voice just above a whisper.

For a moment, it hung in the balance; Cas _felt_ Dean consider lying, or deflecting. And then -

“Drugs.” Dean said with a sigh. He sounded tired, almost casual, in a way that was belied by the nervous twisting of his hands. This was no easy confession. “For a while it wasn’t anything too heavy. Started off with painkillers until I was just messing around with the actual stuff. Being a dumbass teenager. Then my mom died and I got into the hard stuff.” He lifted up his arm and slid his sleeve up until all the fabric was shoved above the elbow. His forearm was littered with fading injection marks against the vaguely mottled skin, more obvious  now that Cas was purposefully being shown.

No wonder Dean always wore long sleeves.

“I tried out for the Olympic team when I was eighteen  and was rejected because didn’t pass the drug test. Almost OD’d the next day. Went to rehab for a long-ass time.”

Dean gave him a pointed look and rolled his sleeve back down.

“Obviously, I still had something I needed to learn.”

Castiel reached out hesitantly and rested a hand on Dean’s arm, hoping that Dean wouldn’t be able to feel the nervous tremors in his hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Dean looked down and covered Castiel’s hand with his own.

“Not a lot of people do. It’s not exactly something I’m proud of.”

They stared back up at the photograph in unison, hands covering each other and shoulders pressed together in understanding silence.

“I’ve been clean for over two years, by the way.” Dean murmured. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“I know. That’s why I told you. I’m… getting tired of hiding everything about it.” Dean leaned his head against Castiel’s shoulder, causing his heart to start beating at double what it should be. “Anyway, long story short, I think you should go for it, but I understand if you don’t.”

Castiel smiled and focused on the small amount of sun that was peeking in the corner of the portrait in front of them.

“I’ll think about it.”

Dean smiled and nudged him again with his shoulder.

“Good.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Dean paused.

“No problem,” he said at last, quietly.


	6. Chapter 6

Photographing Dean was one of the easiest things Castiel had ever done in his whole life.

All he’d have to do was show up every once in awhile, take pictures, let Dean do most of the work, then send him the best pictures at the end of the day for him to use for his social media. The pictures got a decent amount of attention, especially with Dean’s witty captions and snarky comments.

His fans ate it up.

Not too long after their museum date, Castiel noticed that Dean was starting to wear short sleeved shirts. It wasn’t until the first time that he wore a black tee with frayed edges and sleeves that ended well above the elbow did he realize that he’d never seen him wear anything other than long sleeves or a jacket.

The marks were obvious if you were looking for them, which was why Dean probably covered them up, but they weren’t so incredibly noticeable that he’d get stares wherever he went.

It was a brave step forward for him.

The day that Dean started wearing costumes while he practiced was a great day for Castiel - visually, of course. Dean had, of course, shown him the costumes before, but he hadn’t had the pleasure of taking a picture of Dean wearing them while he skated.

The costume for _Back in Black_ was not quite what he predicted, but Castiel had to admit that he didn’t know much about the band. While he’d been expecting a costume entirely in black, Dean had insisted that the white button up shirt, tie, and formal blazer with matching shorts was a callback to Angus Young that fans of the band would go crazy over.

Castiel just thought it made him look like an awkward catholic schoolboy, but who was he to understand the intricacies of figure skating costumes?

“I thought you didn’t have this routine choreographed yet?” Castiel asked when he arrived at the rink, only to see Dean gliding on the ice in his red and black costume.

“I’m getting there,” Dean winked and did a little spin as he skated over to the entrance. “I think you were right about needing a muse.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“I suppose figure skating and photography aren’t so different after all.” He set his glasses on the top of his head in preparation for picture-taking once more. “Now go out there and skate so I can get some good ones of you in costume.”

“Alright, alright.” He tossed Castiel a small black remote. “Just hit the play button when I get in position, alright?”

Castiel just managed to catch the device without dropping it and stared for a moment. He hadn’t yet heard the song Dean was going to be skating to, much less seen the whole routine. He’d seen bits and pieces of it, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Dean mainly practised it when Castiel wasn’t around.

Dean skated to the center of the ice and sat down with his forehead resting on his knees as he brought them close to his chest, hugging his legs with his arms. When he didn’t move for a few seconds, Castiel took that as his cue and pressed the button.

_“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad -”_

One of Dean’s legs slowly ventured outwards before being brought back to his chest tightly.

_“-take a sad song and make it better -”_

One, and then the other.

_“Remember to let her into your heart -”_

An arm reached outwards towards Castiel, but was quickly grabbed around the wrist by the other hand and yanked backwards.

_“Then you can start to make it better.”_

Dean started to slowly stand up, keeping his movements subtle and small, like he was portraying someone unsure or shy until his hand lurched forward, dragging the rest of his body with it like someone was tugging him forward against his will.

“ _Hey Jude, don’t be afraid, you were made to go out and get her -”_

Castiel watched in awe as Dean’s entire first half of the performance was him versus some unknown force. He masterfully pantomimed being dragged into spins and jumps, all the while making every step look graceful and smooth. It wasn’t until it was nearing the end of the song and the music began to get more furious  that Dean seemed to be fighting back against whatever it was that was forcing him to move in ways he didn’t want to. Once he took control of his performance, so to speak, his movements became bigger and freer, and he looked exuberant.

_“- nah nah nah nah, hey Jude.”_

Dean ended with his arm stretching outwards towards the audience, a proud smile on his face.

It wasn’t until then that Castiel realized he had a few tears dripping down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, hoping that his eyes weren’t rimmed red or anything embarrassing like that for Dean to poke fun at.

“Well, what did you think?” Dean asked when he eventually glided his way over the edge of the rink.

Castiel quickly wiped at his nose and cleared his throat.

“It was good,” he managed, staring up at the ceiling. “It was good.”

“Awesome.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply. “Can I see the pictures?”

Castiel looked down at the camera that was still being loosely held in his hands and felt his face heat up when he realized that he’d never once even thought to photograph Dean during the performance. He’d been too caught up with watching Dean - yet again - to take any pictures.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to take some.”

Dean’s smile grew smug as he folded his arms in front of his chest.

“Just good, huh?” he said knowingly.

Castiel shook his head, knowing that there was no backtracking out of this, and brought the camera up to take a snapshot of Dean’s shit-eating grin.

***

Castiel gripped at his hair in frustration when he finally opened the email that he’d been dreading for days. It had sat in his inbox, until the anxiety of not knowing had beat out the bliss of ignorance.

Paying off this semester wasn't going to be cheap.

Though, to be fair, when had any semester been cheap?

So far, he’d been able to squeak by with his museum job, a few pell grants, some FAFSA money  - not a lot - and more student loans than he felt comfortable with. The pell grants had dried up and the government money was growing smaller every year.

He chewed on his lip, considering his options.

Now, he had the museum job, and the photography work for Dean, though neither were paying any crazy amounts of money. He could take out more loans, but he felt a little bit more of his soul die every time he had to crawl to the financial office to do so.

His eyes landed on the crumpled flyer that he’d taken home with him one day. Adjusting his glasses, Castiel picked it and studied it for the dozenth time.

The guidelines of the museum competition, as outlined on the flyer, stated that submissions needed to be a three-part portfolio project on the photographer’s choice - as long as there was some sort of connection or story. Twenty submissions would be chosen to display, but only three would win cash prizes.

A cash prize would definitely come in handy right about now, Castiel thought. Not to mention the possibility of someone seeing his work and wanting to employ him.

Castiel sighed, closed the email, and stood up to tape the flyer to his fridge.

The last thing he wanted to do was enter a contest out of desperation. It would skew the emotion in his work, and he’d be disappointed in everything he did if he entered for the wrong reasons.

He smoothed down the crumpled edges with one hand.

Dean had Skate America coming up soon anyway, and Castiel had to focus on making sure he was ready to travel up to Spokane with Dean and Bobby, and take the absolute best photographs of Dean that he could.

Dean had given him permission to take any and all photos possible, stating that even candids were allowed, because those seemed to go over really well online.

Castiel buried himself in small tasks and preparations. He’d worry about finances after the competition.


	7. Chapter 7

“So, when were you going to tell me that you’re dating my brother?”

Castiel nearly dropped his book in surprise at the sudden change of subjects. He and Sam were supposed to be studying for the Health quiz on Tuesday, then he was home free for for fall break. 

“I - what?”

“My brother, you know…” Sam raised an eyebrow from behind his own book. “Dean Winchester.”

Castiel cleared his throat and closed his book. 

“I am not dating your brother.,” he corrected. “I’ve gone on  _ some _ dates with him -”

“Five.”

“Five isn’t a lot,” he lied, knowing full well how big of a number five was. He’d already gone on more dates with Dean than he ever had in total, in his entire life, up to that point. 

Sam shrugged his shoulders and Castiel could easily see the smile he was trying to hide. 

“Just remember that I was your friend first.” 

Castiel hummed and pulled out all of the flashcards that he’d made over the course of the year, glancing up to see Sam try and sneak a look at a table a little way off from where they were studying.

“So, when were you planning on asking out Eileen?” Castiel asked, glancing behind him to where Sam had been staring. Sure enough, there was Eileen Leahy animatedly signing with a redhead while the other girl laughed. He’d noticed Sam taking a liking to her, and knew that Sam had probably chosen this section of the library for them to study in because Eileen was usually also here. 

“ _ Shhhh!”  _ Sam shook his head wildly and gestured towards where Eileen was currently seated. 

“Why?” Castiel smirked and began flipping through the cards. 

“She’s right over there! Keep your voice down.”

“Ah, yes. Keep my voice down. So she doesn’t hear me.”

Sam instantly turned a bright red and dropped his head into his hands. 

“I can’t ask her out if I keep being a dumbass,” he mumbled.

Castiel reached out and awkwardly patted Sam on the head once. 

“Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “Everyone’s a dumbass at some point or another. Eileen will understand.”

Sam let out a deep breath and propped his chin up with his hands, now openly staring at Eileen and the redhead’s table. 

“She’s just so... smart,” he said, a wistful look in his eyes. “ _ And _ pretty.”

“You’re also smart and pretty,” Castiel smiled and looked at the top card. “Name three types of STI’s and how to treat them.”

Sam groaned.

***

“So basically, Skate America is a three-day-long competition where I’m going to be one of fifty-eight skaters from a dozen different countries competing to win a medal. I’m going to perform  _ Back in Black  _ on the first day and  _ Hey, Jude _ the second day, and then hope to God that I get to stand on the podium the third day and somehow not puke my guts out during the entire thing.”

“Yes, I know, Dean. You’ve told me all of this before.”

Dean’s fists were clenched against the seat of the airplane until his knuckles turned white, and Castiel was a little concerned that Dean was going to lose circulation if his grip didn’t loosen very soon. He’d been rambling to both Castiel and Bobby throughout the entire walk through the airport to the gate about the tiny details of the competition in a very uncharacteristic way, and now Castiel was beginning to realize why. Sam, unfortunately, hadn’t been able to get time off from school to come with them - but he had mentioned something about Dean’s aversion to planes. Castiel hadn’t imagined it would be this severe. There was something about seeing Dean frightened - charming, confident Dean - that made Castiel’s foundations tremble just a little, and drew a line over his heart.

“Okay, cool. Just checking.” Dean nodded much sharper than usual and closed his eyes tightly, humming something loudly that Castiel didn’t quite recognize. 

Castiel leaned forward to look at Bobby in concern. 

“Don’t look at me. I ain’t holding his hand,” Bobby said gruffly and leaned back in his chair, putting the complimentary earplugs in place with surprisingly deft fingers.

Castiel frowned and watched as Dean’s already pale face turned white when the plane’s engines began to roar louder. 

“Dean,” Castiel said gently, “Dean. It’s okay.”

The plane lurched forward and Dean’s eyes flew open in a panic. 

“ _ Fuck -” _ Dean gasped, his neck straining with how hard he was pressing himself back into the seat. “I fucking  _ hate  _ flying.”

As gently as he could, Castiel set one of his hands on top of Dean’s, feeling the cool skin underneath his fingertips, and began to run his thumb along the top soothingly. 

“Tell me about the other competitors,” Castiel said, hoping that more rambling might help Dean get his mind off what Castiel was starting to realize was probably up there on Dean’s list of worst things. 

“Um, well -” Dean gritted his teeth together and sucked in a breath at a slight jolt. “There’s uh, Cole. Cole Trenton. Another American. He’s honestly kind of an asshole, but he has a rabid fanbase, so he sticks around. Not too worried about him.” 

Castiel nodded in understanding, even though Dean’s eyes had closed again. 

“Who else?”

“There’s -  _ fuck -  _ there’s Philippe Le - Le something or other. French guy. New this year.” 

“Sounds interesting.”

Dean let out a nervous laugh. 

“Not really. He’s apparently not doing too great in practice.”

“Ah.”

“Balthazar - him I  _ am _ worried about, though.” Dean’s breathing was still rapid, but his grip on the seat had lessened ever so slightly. “From the UK. He’s crazy good and projected to win it all.”

“Well, whoever is projecting that is wrong,” Castiel said, loosening Dean’s grip on the seat just enough so that he could intertwine their fingers together. “Because they don’t realize that’ll be you.”

Dean peeked one eye open and smiled as much as he could through the fear. 

“You bet your ass.”

The plane launched forward as they started to take off and the Dean’s hand tightened painfully around Castiel’s. 

“Tell me more about Balthazar, Dean.”

The rest of the flight wasn’t as bad as the takeoff, and Dean managed to relax ever so slightly by talking in painful detail about each participating figure skater that he’d researched. From what Castiel could tell, Dean seemed to have a pretty good grasp on which skaters were going to be competition, and which were not. For someone who would be competing in the senior division for only their second time - first since rehab - he seemed incredibly confident. 

Even while in panic mode. 

He was amazing, Castiel thought, the words rising into his mind unbidden. He considered saying them aloud - but shyness kept his mouth shut. Instead, he spent the rest of the flight listening to Dean speak.

Dean nearly kissed the ground the moment he left the plane, but instead opted for cooling down in the bathroom of the Seattle Airport, after Bobby handed him a washcloth. 

Once they left the airport, Castiel began taking pictures again. 

Trees, Dean, cars, buildings, rainclouds, Dean, lakes, Dean, and occasionally Bobby - all became subject to his trigger-happy camera hands on the ride to the hotel. 

He was exceptionally glad that he’d decided to bring an excessive amount of SD cards on this trip; he was going to need them. 

By the time they arrived at the hotel, the sun was beginning to set and Castiel managed to snap a picture of Dean mid-yawn. 

“How well did you do last time you competed in this?” Castiel asked as he helped carry all of the luggage up to their rooms. 

It was a nice hotel - nicer than any Castiel had ever stayed at before - though that wasn’t saying much. He'd never had enough money to stay in fancy places - and at the thought of money, Castiel’s stomach dropped. He remembered the email sitting in his inbox, asking for a payment that he did not have.

He shook his head. He couldn't worry about that now; he was working, doing the best he could to pay it. He wanted to enjoy his time in Spokane - his time with Dean.

“Not awful,” Dean said, bringing Castiel back to reality as he waved at a couple walking down the hallway opposite them. “I was seventeen my first year and obviously didn’t compete after that, but I got fourth.”

“Out of fifty-eight?” Castiel let out a low whistle. “Beating out fifty-four other people your first year is no small feat.”

Dean smirked and pantomimed flipping his non-existent long hair. 

“I know.”

Castiel smiled, but under the confident facade, he knew that Dean was nervous. While he’d been chatty during the plane ride out of terror, the car ride up to the hotel had been completely silent as Dean stared either out the window or at his feet with his hands clasped together in front of himself. 

The closer the competition had gotten, the more curious Castiel had been with the skating community, and he had done some Google searches to get a feel for what people were saying about the different competitors - but especially about Dean. 

Most people seemed excited by his return four years later, but there had been a few naysaying reporters or otherwise projecting their theories as to Dean’s long break, and whether this would affect his performance.

Dean had a lot riding on his shoulders; a lot to prove.

“Alright, we have two rooms.”

Castiel turned around as Bobby’s gruff voice sounded behind the two of them. 

“Here’s yours,” Bobby said while fishing around in his pocket, pulling out the key card, and handing it to Castiel. He held up another identical-looking card. “And this one’s mine. Have a nice night, boys. No strenuous activities, you two. I mean it. Dean needs his sleep.” 

Castiel flushed when Bobby sent a stern look at the two of them before turning around and swiping his card through a door, leaving them standing in the hallway alone. 

“It’s alright, Cas, don’t worry.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “We can jump on the beds if we want to and he can’t stop us.” 

Castiel laughed as the tension diffused, and opened the door to their room. 

It was a large room with two beds a few feet apart, one next to tall windows that looked out over the city, and the other next to what was most likely a mini-bar. 

Castiel eyed the lush bed close to the window and nearly yawned just as a reaction to it. 

“Early day tomorrow, huh?” he murmured as he walked into the large bathroom to change into his sweats. 

“Sure is.” 

Tomorrow was day one of the competition, and Dean was going to be just fine. He’d already placed fourth once before, and Bobby had nothing but praise for Dean’s self-choreographed routines. Of course, he’d given a few pointers, but Bobby seemed to have realized that Dean was motivated by praise more than anything else. 

Dean was already shirtless and flopping onto his bed by the time Castiel had changed. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel murmured, flicking off the light switch and crawling into his own bed, letting the darkness flood the room. 

“Night, Cas.”

Despite the long day of travel and panic-attack prevention, Castiel couldn’t get himself to fall asleep. He shifted positions half a dozen times and tried counting backwards from one hundred. No matter how hard he tried, his brain kept buzzing, reminding him that Dean was nearby. 

What was the point of having two large beds when one would easily fit the two of them?

“Dean? Are you awake?” he asked, nearly a half an hour after he’d turned the light off. 

There was a brief pause before -

“Yeah.”

Castiel rolled over to see Dean staring at him in the darkness and swallowed down a wave of fear warning him against asking.

“Would you - would you like to join me in my bed?” 

He winced internally at the way he’d phrased it, but not even his awkward bumble could erase the pure elation that appeared on Dean’s face. 

The covers were thrown out of the way as Dean nearly tripped over himself to join Castiel in his bed. As soon Dean was next to him, the buzzing in his brain quieted almost instantly. He smiled and reached out of Dean’s hand, winding their fingers together like he had on the plane - only this time, it was far more comfortable on his end. Dean's fingers stroked softly over his own.

“Hey, Cas?”

Castiel hummed in response, tilting his head to look at Dean, feeling Dean’s grip tighten just a little bit when their eyes met. 

“I really like you,” Dean murmured, rubbing the pad of his thumb along the top of Castiel’s hand. 

“I really like you, too.” 

“Nice,” Dean said, a sloppy smile on his face as his eyes drooped. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Dean's eyes fell shut. Castiel repressed the urge to kiss Dean on the forehead - it seemed too intimate, too knowing. It still hadn't been so long since Castiel had taken that risk, and asked Dean out on their first date.

_ You know, _ Castiel thought, just before sleep claimed him,  _ taking risks might just be worth it sometimes. _


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel’s flash was lost in a sea of cameras during the press interview that Dean had found himself roped into. Instead of getting up close and personal, Castiel elected to hang back and take a few snapshots of the swarm of photographers surrounding the figure skater.

“Dean!” one yelled, holding out a recorder. “How confident do you feel after taking such a long break?”

“Pretty damn confident,” Dean said, a pleasant - but guarded - smile on his face. “I’ve been training hard to get back to the condition I was in before, and I think it’s paid off.”

“Can you tell us more about that break from skating? Is it true you were arrested?”

“I wish that were true. I’d feel a lot more badass than I do now.”

Castiel just managed to snap a picture of Dean’s smirk before the next question was asked.

“Are you not saying anything out of shame?”

Castiel frowned and glared at the particular reporter that had the gall to ask something so insensitive. Luckily, Dean seemed to know how to keep a cool head in a way that Castiel doubted he himself would ever be able to do.

“Personal reasons, that include the death of my mother,” Dean said lightly, and Castiel resisted the urge to applaud him for making the reporter look visibly uncomfortable. “What happened in the past isn’t relevant any more. I’m trying to stay focused on forward motion. I’ll see you all on the rink.”

And with that, Dean saluted the reporters with a wink and made his way towards the locker room, the crowd parting around him. Just when Castiel was starting to think that this group was unnaturally infatuated with Dean, someone - who Castiel assumed was another skater - walked by, and was instantly swarmed in the same fashion.

Castiel slung the camera back over his neck and slunk around the outside of the crowd, following after Dean. As quietly as he could, he shut the door to the locker room behind him and was a little surprised to find the that lights had been mostly turned off, and the room nearly empty.

“Dean?” he called out hesitantly, turning a corner when he couldn’t find anyone.

Past the showers, Castiel found him sitting on a bench nearest to the lockers. Skates on, head hung, and one hand rubbing the at his clothed forearm just above where his injection scars would be.

Castiel swallowed. He knew what he was looking at - knew without words between them, without anything more than this image - this one moment.

It was Dean falling all over again.

Success and elation were always a pleasure to capture on Dean’s face, but it was times like these that made Castiel realize why some people photographed tragedy. It was elegant, but not in a way that he’d want to romanticize. More in a way that he’d want to point out and say, “ _Look, see? Even the mighty fall. And that’s perfectly fine.”_

That was what originally attracted him to the picture of Dean falling, instead of any of the shots that showed him moving perfectly. The person that he had looked at in near-immediate awe had made a _mistake,_ and that’s what made the frame so beautiful to him.

His hands raised almost unconsciously and captured the moment in one silent _click_.

Dean sighed.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Cas.”

His voice was so soft that Castiel almost missed it.

“Everyone expects so much from me and I don’t know if I can live up to it.” Dean dropped his head lower and rubbed at his eyes. “What if I make an ass of myself in front thousands of people? Hell, half of them want me to fail anyway. Why _should_ I win? I fucked up my life, man. Whoever wins shouldn’t have that on their record.”

Castiel slowly sat down next to him, and rubbed at his hands while he tried to think of something to say. What could he say to someone that was just as afraid of failing as he was - so much that doing nothing at all would feel better than putting themselves out there.

“Dean…”

There must have been a tone to his voice - something that indicated an intention to support, or maybe to lecture - because Dean waved a hand and said,

“Nah, nah, I'm good. I'm fine. I'm just having a… thing. “

Castiel nodded quietly.

“Do you really believe it?” he said. Dean met his eyes, questioning, and Castiel elaborated. “That someone with your history doesn't deserve to win?”

Dean swallowed.

“I've known you a while now, right?” Castiel said, and Dean nodded, his expression unreadable. “Well, the person I’ve got to know isn't a person defined by his past.”

“It's part of me now,” Dean said wretchedly. He raised his scar-strewn arms just a little, helplessly. “I can't wash it away.”

“Part of you,” Castiel agreed. “Not all of you. You're more than your past…”

“My past is a big bad ball of crap,” Dean said, dully now, with a half-shrug.

“Then to be more than it, you must be a good big ball of… good,” Castiel tried, and then held up a finger. “No. Wait. That was… hang on.” Dean didn't laugh, but his expression had lightened. Castiel wanted to kiss away all that remained of his frown, but marshalled words instead.

“We're... all made up out of our pasts,” he tried. “And we're all so much more than them. We make decisions every moment. We have so much power. And with that power, you have decided to do something… spectacular, and unusual, and brave.” Dean made a face, and Castiel shook his head. “You said so yourself, you know. You’re moving forward. You fell down, and _you got back up again._ You’re an inspiration, Dean Winchester.” He reached over and rested one hand on Dean's forearm. “This doesn’t define you. It’s a part of you that won't wash away, you're right. But you've turned what happened into something beautiful and that takes so much courage. You’re going to be stronger because of these. Because of what you've come through.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders halfheartedly, still avoiding eye-contact.

“You don’t have to do perfectly to win, you know.” Castiel said reassuringly. “If you fall, or trip, or forget a sequence, you do what you do best.”

Dean’s brow furrowed.

“And what’s that?”

Castiel smiled and nudged him with his shoulder.

“Get right back up again, smile, and keep going.”

Dean let out a half-laugh and ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, okay.”

There was a loud sniff beside him as Dean rubbed at his nose.

“Thanks, Cas.”

“You should get into your catholic choirboy outfit now.”

Dean laughed and nearly shoved him off of the bench.

“Fuck you. Get out of here so I can get dressed.”

Castiel straightened his glasses and picked himself back up again. The mood had shifted to a lighter tone, much to Castiel’s relief. Dean projected such a self-confident attitude it was easy to forget about the part of him that Sam had first told him about - a much more fragile part that hidden just below the surface.

Castiel turned around, his back pressed to the door.

“Hey, Dean?”

Dean looked up, his locker half-open.

“If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

And with a smile, he left.

***

Castiel had to admit, Balthazar did seem like the one to beat. His routine oozed charisma and got the audience worked up within a matter of seconds. The judges had also responded favorably, giving him what Castiel assumed was a good score. He couldn’t totally be sure, as he still didn’t fully understand how scoring worked in figure skating.

It didn’t matter, anyway.

Balthazar could work a crowd, but so could Dean.

The pass that Bobby had given Castiel got him all-access to anything behind-the-scenes, including the ability to stand right next to the rink while Dean performed.

_“Next up is Dean Winchester, representing the United States of America.”_

Castiel tapped his fingers against his camera impatiently when the announcer came over the loudspeakers, as the previous skater - a man named Max - was currently stepping off of the rink while waving to the crowd.

“Wish me luck?”

Castiel whirled around, camera at the ready, and snapped a picture of Dean with one hand on the rim of the rink.

“Good luck.” Castiel met Dean's eyes.

Dean smiled and slid onto the ice, holding his hands up to the air as he soaked in the sound of the applause from the audience around him.

The few moments of silence between Dean’s starting pose and when the music actually began nearly caused Castiel to have a heart attack on Dean’s behalf.

It was fine, Castiel told himself.

Dean could do this, Castiel told himself.

Dean’s shoulders dropped in time to the familiar beginning guitar rift, and the audience immediately began screaming as they recognized the tune. He lifted up the imaginary guitar, starting to strum along to the rhythm while skating backwards, just as Castiel had seen dozens of times by now. Dean always had an air of enthusiasm to him during this routine, but this was the first time Castiel had seen him _truly_ perform to a responsive audience.

The crowd was eating it up.

Dean egged them on at the right moments, ignored them in others, and was in tune to their vibrancy. He was both coy and shy; oozing confidence and humility at the same time, he commanded them.

It was like watching a maestro perfectly bend an orchestra to his will.

Castiel gripped his camera tighter than he should have while taking the pictures, but after watching Dean land the first two jumps effortlessly, he was starting to relax.

Before he knew it, the song faded into silence - and the audience erupted into applause once more, as Dean tipped the idiotic tribute hat that he’d insisted on wearing and skated back to the Kiss and Cry.

“Dean, that was amazing!” Castiel said breathlessly as soon as Dean was within earshot, frowning when all he got in return was a halfhearted smile. “What’s wrong?”

“I messed up on the step sequence.” Dean said, adjusting his blazer with a shrug. “Landed the jumps, though. That’s a surprise.”

“I thought it was incredible. I didn’t even notice you went wrong.”

Dean smiled as he took of his hat and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas wanted to hold his hand - wanted to hold him close.

“Good job, Dean,” he settled for saying.

A much gruffer voice sounded from behind him, and Castiel moved out of the way to let Bobby step in and do his job.

“You’ll probably get a hefty amount of bonus points for interpretation, but your step sequence was sloppy as all hell -”

Castiel let out a deep breath that he felt like he’d been holding for years as a different skater began his routine.

One down, one to go.

***

Dean was placed in fourth.

Castiel had uploaded all of the pictures from the day before up onto his laptop to free up some space, and then headed back down to the rink after Dean, who was rightfully nervous. His score was right on the edge of where he was the last time he competed. If he performed better, he might be able to place higher, but any brutal mess-ups could be catastrophic for his placement. Luckily, he was going third to last, and the two behind him were two skaters that didn’t have much of a chance at placing - so they could quickly compute the scores if they had to.

In the changing rooms, Castiel was hardly needed this time; Dean was hard-eyed with focus, but he softened long enough to squeeze Castiel’s shoulder with a hand that shook.

“Adrenaline,” Dean explained. “Not scared.”

Castiel nodded seriously. Dean's face was a quiet miracle of half-wild, half-focused; unable to resist, Castiel snapped a picture.

“I don't think I've ever taken this many pictures,” he said. “Not in such a short space of time.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” he said, “guess we all have…” He trailed off, and Castiel squinted at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Dean said. “Nothing. Let me have a second, would you? I need to get my head together.”

Castiel complied, repressing the urge to push Dean harder for the end of the abandoned sentence. He headed out to his usual position, the chill of the ice rink making his teeth want to chatter, as normal.

When Dean emerged, he was a mirage of red and black in his costume. Castiel watched him intently through the lens of his camera, seeing every smile and wave in high definition.

At the final moment before hitting the ice, Dean looked directly into the camera with that look on his face again - wild, focused, hungry for something. He gave Castiel one last long, long stare - Castiel snapped off a few pictures - before mouthing _“my muse”_ and pushing himself onto the ice.

Castiel felt his heart unbend and expand, like wings in his chest. The lights dimmed.

A spotlight fell on a lone figure sitting on the ice.

_Hey, Jude. Don’t make it bad -_

The routine began - and the Dean without control over his actions was center stage, as the audience realized what was happening.

It wasn’t long before nearly the entire stadium was singing along and following Dean - mesmerized - as he gracefully pulled himself along the ice into spins, jumps, and fluid circles.

Castiel couldn’t help but note a touch of irony - for someone who hated heights so much, Dean sure did look like he was flying.

The last note faded after a verse of riotous shouting, and the crowd clapped longer and louder than they had the day before - though that could just be Castiel projecting.

“No matter your score, you did amazing,” Castiel said fiercely, as Dean pulled both him and Bobby into a hug while they sat awaiting the results.

“You know, I _feel_ like I did amazing, too. Even if the numbers don’t show that.”

“Well, they do,” Bobby said gruffy, nudging Dean and pointing up at the screen. “Look at that, boy.”

Dean shot up from his seat, his mouth open as he stared up at his score, obviously doing some very quick math. A wide grin split his face a moment later and he fist-pumped triumphantly.

“What?” Castiel asked, sure that it was a good score, but not sure _how_ good. “What does it mean?”

“Second place, Cas!” Dean spun back around and grabbed him by the shoulders in pure elation. “I’m in second place!”

And there, in full view of the audience, cameras, and anyone else who happened to be watching, Dean leaned in and pressed his lips to Castiel’s - one hand running through the hair on the back of his head, in an attempt to pull him even closer.

Castiel’s eyes flew open as soon as his lips registered what was happening - then immediately shut again to block out the flashes of cameras and stares of people surrounding them.

Who cared if thousands of people were watching?

This moment was just for them.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel stared at the pictures that he’d pulled up on his computer and chewed on his lips as he studied them. He’d sent Dean all of the pictures he’d taken up until now, and Dean had been using them sporadically on his instagram -  all except these specific three.

Dean’s popularity since Skate America had shot up drastically, as well as his follower count and need to post good content. To Castiel’s embarrassment, Dean’s first instagram picture after the competition hadn’t been one of the ones Castiel had sent him, but a grainy picture of Castiel staring at his camera screen in concentration sometime during the car ride back to the airport.

It had read:

 

_He captures moments as well as my heart._

 

Castiel traced the outline of Dean’s face on the screen in front of him as he tried to think through what he was going to tell Dean.

The deadline for the museum submissions was fast approaching, and Castiel had the three pieces that he wanted to display.

The first was a picture that he’d taken of Dean during a practice just before they left for the competition. He was in the middle of a low spin, one arm propped against the leg flying off of the ice and the other was outstretched behind him.

It was, of course, as beautiful as Dean could make any picture he was the subject of, but the subtlety of the picture wasn’t Dean’s face.

It was one of the first pictures Castiel had taken of him when he decided to forego the long sleeved shirts, and instead had on a simple black tee with a band logo - and if someone stared at his arm with more than just passing intent, they would be able to see that slightly mottled with discolored skin and puncture marks along the upper forearm and crease of the elbow.

You could see that Dean had injected at some point.

The second picture was the one that he’d taken in the low-light of the locker room during the competition. Dean was in his warm up clothing, a dejected look on his face as he rested one hand on the inside of his arm.

The third picture was captured during Dean’s rendition of _Hey, Jude_ while he’d performed it at Skate America. Two spotlights lit his frame with his arms outstretched and eyes closed - an image of grace and beauty with the colors of red and black dancing around him.

Castiel’s head jerked up at the sound of a knock at the door, and he scrambled up from his seat to answer it with a shy smile on his face.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean waved back and stepped inside, shucking off his leather jacket.

“Heya, Cas.” He grinned and pulled Castiel close by his hips, and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Castiel was never going to get used to being able to kiss him.

“So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Castiel cleared his throat and stepped away, motioning for Dean to follow him to his laptop in the kitchen.

“I’d like to attempt to enter the museum’s next exhibit, but I wanted to ask for your permission first.”

Dean sat down on a stool opposite Castiel, a confused look on his face.

“My permission? Cas, you know you don’t have to ask my permission to do shit, right?”

Castiel nodded and turned his laptop screen around to show him, taking the time to gauge his reaction as he looked over the pictures.

“I realize that, but they do feature you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

He could see the moment Dean noticed the prominent marks on his arms as he leaned forwards closer to the screen, and his brow furrowed.

“I’d like for it to be a sort of… study in motion. Proof that people can move forwards in life no matter the circumstances or how hard you fall.” Castiel tapped his fingers nervously against his opposite arm when Dean continued staring at the photos, saying nothing. “I absolutely understand if this is something you’re not comfortable with, or something you don’t want people to know. Just say the word and I’ll delete the pictures and not worry about it. I promise I won’t be offended.”

Dean nodded slowly and turned the laptop back around to face Castiel.

“You should do it.”

Castiel eyed him closely, looking for any sign of discomfort.

“Are you sure? Because I’m serious. I won’t if-”

A hand rested gently on top of Castiel’s.

“I’m sure, Cas. I think the pictures are really good and you should be given the attention you deserve for them,” Dean said, smiling reassuringly. “You’ve got this in the bag.”

Castiel chewed on the inside of his cheek, not totally convinced that Dean was okay with this. Undoubtedly, someone would recognize Dean in the photographs. Figure skating was not the most popular sport in the world, but it definitely had a following and Dean was now a prominent member in that community. Statistically, it could happen.

“When do you have to have it in by?”

“Tomorrow,” Castiel murmured, sliding his hand out from under Dean’s to grab a glass of water. “I just have to send those in an email with my description of the project and I can consider myself officially entered.”

Dean grinned.  

“Cutting it kind of close, aren’t you?”

“I always do.”

Castiel sat back down and pursed his lips as he scanned over the pictures again. This was something that could easily affect the way people looked at Dean, though he hoped most people would take it as a message of inspiration. People had the potential to be cruel, however.

“Hey, you’re coming with me to Grand Prix Final, right? Sam said that he can make it this time.”

Castiel glanced up and frowned.

“Grand Prix Final?”

“Yeah,” Dean raised an eyebrow. “I scored high enough to qualify for the big stuff this time, so I’ll competing against the best of the best.”

No, Castiel thought, he had not realized that there was something to continue on towards past Skate America. He set down his cup as he did a quick Google search on his laptop.

“I really need to get more in the loop on how figure skating works,” he muttered as he scanned through the search results.

Luckily, Dean just laughed and grinned at him fondly as he stood back up.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll fill you in on everything important. Mainly: me.” He winked and grabbed at his jacket again. “Sorry to keep this short, but I promised Sam I’d head over to his place to meet his new girlfriend. Will you send me a copy of the email you’re going to send the judges? I’d like to read it over. I like hearing you talk about me.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and waved his arm as he continued to scroll through the results.

“Of course. I’ll send CC you. Have fun with Eileen and Sam.”

The door shut and Castiel rubbed at his eyes.

The conversation had been supposed to convince him that it was okay to submit the pictures, not the opposite. Everything Dean had said made it seem like he only wanted it to get entered for _Castiel’s_ sake, and that was the last thing that he wanted to have happen.

Dean was now going to be competing for an even bigger title, and his public image was going to be a very important part of that. What if he was thrown off his game because reporters kept hurling invasive questions about his time in rehab? What if he lost all of his fans because this was exposed?

Castiel pulled up the email he’d written previously with the three pictures attached and his description in the body.

He couldn’t do it.

Castiel shook his head as he read through the submission once more.

It wasn’t worth risking Dean’s career just to have his pictures displayed on some wall. The winnings could have been nice, but he’d figure out how to pay for school without it. He’d have to.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel sent the email off to Dean, and Dean only.

It was better this way, anyway.

***

“Are you sure you want to go in here?” Castiel said, staring at the front of the art museum as groups of people began entering. “It’s not too late to get back in the car and get ice cream or something.”

It was the first day of the new exhibit, a day that Castiel had been vehemently trying to ignore and praying that Dean would somehow forget about.

Of course, neither had successfully happened.

“Nope. No way. We’re gonna go see what sort of stuff got chosen.” Dean dragged him forward by the hand with a wide smile on his face.

It was going to break Castiel’s heart to see the disappointment on Dean’s face - the let-down when he realised Castiel’s photographs weren't there.

Castiel trudged alongside Dean as he led them into the building Castiel knew like the back of his hand.

“Dean, don’t get your hopes up -” Castiel said as they walked up the stairs, maneuvering their way through small groups of people. “I would have gotten an email if I -”

“Hey,” Dean said, turning to face him. “It's OK. Just… it's OK. Come on.” He held the door open for Castiel to walk through. Castiel, moving through it more from polite habit than anything else, allowed himself to be steered onward.

“Dean,” he said, ready to rejoin the battle. “Listen, it's fine. I know already that I'm not -”

Castiel cut himself off when they entered the display room.

There, in the center of the longest wall, blown up bigger than any other display, were three familiar pictures of Dean with a group of people gathered blow.

How on earth was the museum able to display the pictures that he hadn’t sent?

“Excuse me, coming through. Man of the hour, here. Him, not me.” Dean weaved them through room until they were standing below the large portraits, staring at the plaque below them - one with the name _Castiel Novak_ imprinted in fancy script, as well as the description he’d written up in the email.

_In regards to physics, ‘Motion’ is defined as a change in place or position of an object over time. As long as said object has progressed or moved at a forward pace, it is further along than when it started, even if there were setbacks along the way. This three-part study shows that even falling can’t stop a person from their own forward motion, and that making mistakes doesn’t mean it’s over. Pictured above in all of his flaws and perfection is the second place winner of Skate America: Dean Winchester, who taught me that falling doesn’t have to be the end._

“I don’t - I don’t understand.” Castiel whispered, clutching onto Dean’s hand tightly. “I didn’t submit it. I don’t know how -”

“I figured you wouldn’t.” Dean squeezed his hand in return. “I got your email and saw that you hadn’t sent it in, and I figured you thought I wasn’t on board, so I sent it in for you.”

Castiel tore his eyes away from his work and saw that Dean looked nervous and was bouncing on his toes.

“I hope that’s okay?” he asked hesitantly. “ I am on board. I’m ready. I think this is a powerful idea, Cas. It deserves to be seen.”

It was only then that Castiel noticed the muttering around them.

A few small groups of people were whispering amongst themselves, looking up at the pictures and trying to discreetly point at Dean. This was it. Everyone in that room now knew that Dean had those injection scars, and yet he didn’t seem bothered by it.

“Excuse me…?”

They both looked over their shoulder when a tall man with a beard tapped Dean on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry to be a bother,” the man dropped his head down, gesturing towards the photographs, “But is that you up there?”

“Sure is,” Dean said with an easy smile.

Castiel felt a sense of unease, hoping that this man wasn’t about to preach to them. Instead, the man held out a hand that Dean shook.

“Thank you. I’ve, uh - I’ve only been clean for a few months, so it’s nice to know that it can get better.” The man gripped Dean’s hand tightly. “I’m Benny, by the way. Thanks for putting yourself out there.”

Dean cleared his throat in a way that Castiel had come to learn was just covering up emotion.

“No problem, man. Three years and counting and I promise it does get better.” Dean patted Benny on the shoulder.

The two chatted for a little while longer, talking about rehab and ways to deal with relapse without falling apart - and Castiel stepped away to give them a little privacy.

“Not bad, Clarence.” Castiel looked over his shoulder to see Meg leaning against the back wall in her work uniform. “Can’t believe you actually did it. And that you’re pretty damn good, too.”

Castiel blinked at the unexpected praise and tilted his head.

“Thank you, Meg.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” she grinned and nodded her head towards where Dean and Benny were talking. “Glad you decided to take my advice.”

Castiel ducked his head with a chuckle.

“Me too.”

“Anyway, gotta get back to work, but congrats and stuff. You deserve it,” she said, smacking him on the back before leaving him, heading back the way she’d come.

Castiel spent the next few minutes admiring all of the rest of the chosen submissions - and the more he looked, the more honored he felt to have his work among them.

“Sorry about that,” Dean said as he hooked his arm around Castiel’s and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

“Don’t be. This is the kind of that I was originally hoping for when I put it together.” Castiel angled himself to better reach Dean’s lips and pulled him in for a brief - but meaningful - kiss.

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered, “For everything.”

“Trust me,” Dean said, gazing over the crowd with more pride that Castiel had ever seen on his face - even when his second-place status had been announced. “The pleasure is all mine.”

There was something in his eye that was half-wild,half-focused; it was the chase, the laugh, the step and step and step again. It was onwards.

Castiel didn’t know what the future held for them. He wasn’t sure if things could get better than this - than his photographs up on the wall in the museum, and Dean's warm weight by his side. He looked back up to his works, beautifully displayed, and felt his stomach flip as the reality of it finally began to dawn over him.

“Dean,” he said.

Dean took his hand.

“I know,” Dean said, and that was enough.

Castiel squeezed Dean’s fingers.  If there was one thing he’d learned, it was that they were going to continue moving forward - even if it was an upward climb with trips, stumbles and falls. They’d get right back up again, smile, and keep going.  

Together.

 


End file.
